Intermissions
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: James Murray has summoned Matthew for a convention in Manchester. Were the entire trip not for the duration of one month, Matthew would not have been so fearful to face Mary. Episodes of obstacles interfere with their desire to be together and at ease.
1. A Dreadful Night

Matthew entered his welcoming bedroom on an ironically ill note. Against the adjacent wall, the scarlet fire crackled in the fireplace; on the other side of the room near the window, a tulip sat regally in its vase. Young Mr. Crawley saw none of this, however. He was too entranced by the wallowing thoughts in his distressed mind. _Will Mary be upset with me if I tell her? Should I retire to my bed in the dressing room for the night?_

Amid these thoughtful questions was a nervousness that sank deeper and more painfully into his head than all else: Mary was still not home. And without Mary, none of his questions would need to be answered - at least not yet. Nevertheless, his darling wife continued to be absent in the warm atmosphere of their bedroom at Downton, and Matthew found this rather peculiar.

_Where could she be?_ he bellowed inside, growing anxious by every ghastly tick of the Roman clock that stared Matthew in the face from his bedside table. _Has she missed her train? _he wondered more practically, for the woman had taken a day-long trip to London.

Mary's words still resounded in Matthew's ears: "I will be with Rosamund today. We've had an important errand planned for ages. I won't be back until late tonight."

It was beyond late.

The daunting clock showed its hour hand slightly to the left of the "XII", and the minute hand was gaining on that very same numeral. Matthew heard faint voices coming from outside the room, whereupon he averted his gaze for a moment to focus on the commotion.

"…if she should not be back, what will I tell Mr. Crawley?"

He could tell that the vocalisation belonged to Mrs. Hughes. _Why her?_ Matthew asked himself.

He had not an acceptable answer to his own query, and before he could return to gaze despairingly at the clock Mrs. Hughes tapped on the door. "Mr. Crawley? It's Mrs. Hughes. May I come in?"

Since he was still only feet away from the door from which he had entered moments before, Matthew made haste in welcoming the head housekeeper inside. Mrs. Hughes appeared rather disheveled; it looked as though she had been through the debris of a terrible storm. And yet there was not a single drop of liquid falling from the sky, nor a sudden gust of wind; it was the last day of July: it was summertime.

"Mrs. Hughes," Matthew greeted her casually. "Is everything all right?" He knew that the woman would not affirm this desired fantasy.

"I am afraid not, Mr. Crawley. A telegraph arrived just now. It seems that Lady Mary will remain with Lady Rosamund for the night. The elder of the two seems to have taken a very bad fall."

The news was far different from that which Matthew had imagined. He was stunned. "What? I wouldn't have thought..."

"Neither had any of us," remarked the woman. "But I hope that the news translates itself for you ..."

"Of course," Matthew exhaled. "How unfortunate. You see, I..." He stopped for a moment, unsure whether he should relay the big news to a member of the staff. Mrs. Hughes prompted him: "Mr. Crawley?"

"...I should not take pleasure in admitting this to you, but I'm afraid that Mr. Murray has called me to leave Downton for some estate business. It is a convention, with a few meetings and formal dinners. I leave tomorrow and...I won't be back for a month."

There. He had blurted it all out. Not to Mary, of course, whom he presumed would have begun to protest Matthew's summons. Still, he had confessed the truth, and how it pained the young man to realise that admitting it had not lifted any weight from his shoulders. He still felt miserable.

And what was more, he and Mary had been anxious to proceed in their efforts to have children. Not only would those efforts now be delayed; Mary would also be furious at him for leaving her for what would surely feel like an eternity: to both of them.

Mrs. Hughes sensed Matthew's discontented nature. "I am terribly sorry, Mr. Crawley. Is there anything I can do to help with your departure? "

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, but no. I..." He smiled sadly. "I am afraid that I must operate alone. Good luck to you this month -" as the clock had just struck twelve - "and please know that I appreciate your information regarding the situation in London."

Matthew was well aware that he had whisked away the sincere Mrs. Hughes, but he could not come to his senses. He would not have the chance to see Mary before his departure, and this would change everything. _She will be angrier,_ he assured himself, _now that I am so suddenly leaving - without saying goodbye._

"Well, all right," sighed Mrs. Hughes. "Just take care of yourself. I will make sure that Anna looks after Lady Mary for you - well, we both know that Lady Mary is perfectly capable of looking after herself, if I might say so. "

"Indeed," agreed Matthew. He attempted a genuine smile for the present time, shoving away all extraneous imaginings and worries. The other grinned in kind and bid Matthew a good night. He wished her a good month (once more) and closed the heavy door.

It was not really a heavy door. He merely knew that once he closed the door to distractions, all of his fears and dilemmas would proceed to haunt him.


	2. Unnerving Farewell

"Will Matthew be very disappointed when you return?"

"I certainly hope not."

Mary sat on a wicker chair at her Aunt Rosamund's bedside. The older woman winced and admitted, "I do not think this pain will drift away any time soon. I am indebted to you, my dear." Rosamund looked apologetically at an uncertain Mary, who quickly and politely responded, "I don't mind doing this. If I must, I will remain with you until you are on the brink of full health -"

"No, Mary," interrupted Rosamund. "That is the most absurd thing I have heard from you in a long time. How would your husband react to such a statement? And when you both have been busy trying for -"

"I am sure Matthew would understand. He might even come to visit if he has business in London." Mary reached for the damp cloth that covered Rosamund's sprained leg. She dabbed it into the bucket of cold water and gently replaced it onto the ailing woman's leg.

Rosamund would not allow Mary to win the conversation. "You know just as well as I that your husband cares immensely for you, Mary. I will not let you stay here past tomorrow."

"Who else will look after you? Your maid is gone, remember? She left this morning." Mary studied her aunt's exhausted eyes as they came to realisation that the housemaid had fallen ill. Naturally, Rosamund had graciously insisted that the housekeeper return to her family for the weekend. Considering what excuse she would make for her niece not to return to Downton, Rosamund put a hand on her forehead. "Would you like a damp cloth?" asked Mary.

"Yes, thank you, my dear. But truly, Mary, I wish for you to go back to the abbey. I will hire a temporary nurse while I am unable to walk." She smiled at the other, who (for the hundredth time) examined the sprained leg with rapt attention. "Mary."

Mary disengaged her gaze from the object of focus and looked at Rosamund with serious, tense eyes. Her aunt smiled sadly. "Your countenance encourages me to feel depressed! Lighten up, child!"

Exhaling through her nasal cavity, Mary managed to smile. "Sorry," she repented. Rosamund chuckled.

"The thing is, Aunt Rosamund," Mary started. "Well, I - I think that Matthew will not mind my being away for some time. He has been extremely occupied with the estate business, visiting our lawyer Mr. Murray and congregating with the estate farmers. So I do not think that it would matter much to him whether I am gone."

Rosamund shifted in her position on the bed to face Mary. "But Matthew _does_ care about that, my dear. Every little moment he can earn with you is priceless to him; mark my words! When your late uncle was active in estate business, he would come home, often with worry and depression on his face. But what changed him was my presence, which relieved him of that discomfort." She extended an arm out to her niece's hand. "So I want you to be on your merry way in the morning, and no exceptions! Do not for another moment argue that Matthew does not care whether his wife is there with him!"

...

Matthew departed Downton moments before Mary's arrival at the village station. In other words, husband and wife were on schedule to cross paths.

It was no shock to Mary when she found him, coffee-coloured hat nestled in between his arm and his side. It was, on the contrary, quite a shock for the man to see his wife so much earlier than he had anticipated.

Matthew helped Mary off of the train rather automatically. He sweated at the thought of breaking the unpleasant news to her; after all, Matthew Crawley had not waited at the station to welcome his wife home.

"How impressive," remarked Mary in her prideful tone. "Did Aunt Rosamund telephone you? No one else would have known -"

"No one called," Matthew stated shortly. He tried to maintain the pleasant demeanour with which he had begun the confrontation, but his countenance soon faltered.

Mary noticed this and continued the conversation. "Then how would you have known...?"

Matthew led her away from the train and toward a nearby bench. "Sit down for a moment," he offered.

"Aren't we going home? I am tired, Matthew; I got up early this morning to make the seven o'clock!"

The man sighed and stared at the ground. "No - at least, _I_ am not going back to Downton. Not now."

"What?" Mary interjected. "I don't understand..."

"I know," Matthew admitted. "Mary, Mr. Murray requests my presence at a series of meetings in Manchester. There will be important people at these meetings and dinners, including members from Parliament -"

Mary felt an electric current zip through her body. "You're not saying...Will you be away for long?"

Matthew blinked and surveyed his surroundings. Outgoing passengers now outnumbered the incoming. People began to board the train, and this made him more uneasy.

Mary called him back to the conversation: "Matthew! Will you answer me?"

"I have...no intention to upset you, nor do I want this to happen. Murray wants me in Manchester for a month." He inhaled and exhaled gradually. "I have no choice."

All of Mary's happiness upon meeting her husband at the station had by now drained out of her. "A month," she whispered, as if the words contained a dreadfully valuable secret. To make matters worse, Matthew nodded in validation of Mary's query.

He found it appropriate to speak rapidly. "Believe me, my darling, I would much rather avoid this trip. Nothing pains me more than to be away from you and our family for weeks on end, but -"

"Why?" she pleaded. "Why not just one week? Does a month not sound like an eternity to you? Matthew...who does Murray think you are: a lonely, unmarried man with time to spare? We cannot afford to lose you for an entire -"

"Mary -" he began. The chilling whistle of the train had beat him to the end of his sentence, and Mary frowned at him.

"I don't want to make you wait. I cannot interfere anymore. You must go -"

"Mary, I don't expect you to accept this -"

"Oh, I can't very well avoid acceptance, Matthew. I must - sooner rather than later - accept that you will be away for _thirty-one_ days."

Matthew thought twice and decided not to kiss her on the cheek. "I will write to you. Perhaps I can arrange to leave early on the last week."

Mary seemed not to have gained any enthusiasm from this more positive assertion. She unemotionally prompted him, "Hurry now."

And the Crawleys departed. One for Manchester, on account of business; the other for Downton, her lifelong - and now empty - home.


	3. A Decision and a Doubt

Cora and Edith stood outside of the abbey as the chauffeur pulled the car in front of the house. Alfred stood opposite the two women, and alongside him were Carson and Anna. The footman went to pull open the car door for Lady Mary, who exited the vehicle with an air of discontentment.

As soon as her feet collided with the pavement, Mary stormed past her welcome party and into the building.

"What happened to _her_?" Edith wondered, a tiny smirk present on her face. Cora sighed despairingly and turned her body toward the house. She made large strides through the entryway and up the flight of stairs, hoping to catch her daughter before Mary slammed the bedroom door shut.

As Cora approached the side of the hall with the family's bedrooms, she noticed that her door had been closed (though it had not met the door frame, so it remained ajar). The Earl of Grantham was not home, Cora knew, since he had business with local farmers until half past three; and it could not have been O'Brien in the room, either. Suddenly Cora knew. She called softly to her daughter: "Mary?"

"Where is Papa?" came an answer from inside the Lord and Countess of Grantham's bedroom. Cora picked up her pace and opened the door further to make eye contact with her daughter. Mary no more wore a sense of utter disappointment and curtness. She looked at her mother's confused blue eyes and explained, "I need to speak with him. Matthew has gone to Manchester -"

"What?" interrupted Cora, aghast. "We wondered where Matthew had gone; your father and Tom had to leave without him to meet the local farmers."

Shaking her head in uncertainty, Mary confessed, "I don't understand anything right now. First Rosamund insisted that I return home, even when I should not have done. Then, when I got off the train, Matthew was there to board it. Mama," Mary breathed, her anger diminishing into sorrow, "he won't be back until the end of the month."

Cora's eyes widened. She closed the bedroom door behind her and motioned for her daughter to sit with her on the bed.

Mary received Cora's extended arm and stared at her lap. "I don't know what to think," she admitted vaguely.

"Did Matthew warn you about this trip?" asked Cora.

The other shook her head sadly. "He seemed to have recently found out -"

"But why a month?"

Mary looked up from her downward gaze. "I don't know, Mama, but I want to meet him there..." She sighed. "I am at war with myself -"

"Do you wish to meet him there, Mary?" asked a hopeful Cora. "Because I think that's a wonderful alternative to waiting."

Mary pursed her lips. Would she have the will to make her presence among the men in those estate congregations, to stand up for her place as future Countess of Grantham, to stand up to _Matthew_ upon meeting him there? "Granny would faint at the prospect, but I am eager to do it," she decided with finality. Mary made eye contact with her mother. "Thank you, Mama, for imparting your wisdom to me. God knows I needed it."

Cora raised her eyebrows skeptically. "I doubt I have the knowledge you give me credit for, but I am always here for you. That you can - and must - count on."

The two women arose from the bed and embraced gently. Cora was about to turn away when Mary suddenly asked, "Will Papa mind if I am gone?"

"I don't see why he would mind _too_ terribly. You know your father: he's grown tired of fighting his headstrong daughters."

Mary grinned in response to her mother's statement, but she knew that this was not true. The Earl of Grantham would not be pleased.


	4. The Unexpected Guest

Mary endured the train ride for four hours. Of course she would have rather been feasting on Mrs. Patmore's scrumptious dinner with the family, sitting in between her loving mother and her steadfast grandmother.

But then she remembered: Matthew was not home anyway. And since Matthew was in Manchester, Mary knew that it was her duty to take the journey up north to reunite with him.

The rugged ground made for a bumpy ride; the rails often screeched and the steam of the tank engine billowed aggressively, braving the fight through rocky terrain.

Passengers around Lady Mary Crawley slumbered peacefully despite the train's obnoxious noises. This the woman could not come to understand, since her own body found no peace in the present situation. Mary rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. _How many hours until I can get off of this thing?_ she wondered aimlessly. Luckily, the train at that moment had entered the city of Manchester.

Though she was seldom without her maid, Mary seemed not to find any trouble whilst she checked into the hotel unaccompanied. Anna had been shocked when the woman had announced her decision to leave her maid behind, but Mary had reassured everyone that Matthew would be with her at all times.

Of course he was not yet with her - which Mary had expected, since the poor man's presence had been requested at the Manchester convention. Mary still knew very little about the ordeal, but the entire picture resonated true importance, and that was enough for her to know until she experienced a meeting first-hand.

Coincidentally, she was fortunate enough to learn from the front desk of the hotel at which the first meeting was being held. "I am afraid it has already begun, milady," confessed the receptionist, "but I am certain that if you state your affiliation with the meeting, they will let you in."

Trusting in the man's words, Mary thanked him and departed for a taxi. The receptionist had called it the "Downton National Affairs" convention, which came across to Mary as rather formal. She shivered as thought of a speech to present to the group of gentlemen.

...

"Are we agreed?" Mr. Murray asked his fellow members around the extensive, oval table. The polished wood shone so brightly due to the lighting that Matthew had to shut his strained eyes for a moment to regain optical strength.

"Agreed," came the unison answer. Matthew let his lips form a small grin. So far, the members of Parliament valued his idea to revive the fields of many of Downton's trustworthy farmers.

"Very well, then," Murray continued with energy. "I welcome anyone with a question to stand."

A tall man rose from his seat at the far edge of the table. Matthew had to lift his head to find the face of this towering man, who donned the livery of a war veteran. "Thank you."

He was a middle-aged man, and his voice was deep and almost intimidating. "My name is Henry York, and I represent the city of Manchester. I am pleased to be here among fellow Englishman, along with our American guests who have so kindly offered to give advice to us as we decide the fate of Downton."

The Englishmen clapped respectfully and briefly, then quieted for York to speak. "I have an inquiry for all, but I would be interested to hear what Mr. Crawley has to say to this." The man found the man whose name he had just called.

Before York could utter more, the door to the conference room had a knock from the other side. "Who is it? We are quite busy," one of the men at the table complained.

"She knows Mr. Matthew Crawley, sir," came the muffled voice of a young man.

Matthew's heart skipped a beat, and this interfered with the rhythm that his body had so carefully composed for the important meeting.

_"She?"_ Murray blurted, almost in disgust. He held his tongue, however, when "she" who entered the room of men was none other than Lady Mary Crawley.

"Good day," the woman greeted the puzzled group. She had a warm countenance upon her, which was one step in the right direction. "I hope that you will forgive me for my tardiness; my train only arrived thirty minutes ago -"

"Lady Mary Crawley!" one of the Americans exclaimed. "I have heard about you from the others at this table. How very nice it is to have you here with us!"

This reaction was quite opposite of that of the remaining people in the room. Mary beamed and neared an empty chair at the table.

Suddenly Matthew took charge. "Please excuse me," declared he, as he made a raucous noise rising from and pushing in his chair. He neared her as calmly as possible, took her hand gently (so as not to startle the crowd that so intriguingly watched them), and closed the door behind them.

Mary freed herself from Matthew's increasingly firm grip on her arm. "What in God's name are you doing?" she hissed, clearly furious at not only the scene but at the way by which her husband had brought her out of the room.  
>Matthew felt sick. "Mary, w-what are you doing here?"<p>

"You dare ask!" Mary countered, increasing in callousness by the second. "Do you think your wife would be able to handle the next thirty days without her husband? Do you think me to be so unattached to you, so indifferent about where you go and what you do -"

"I did not want you to come, Mary!" Matthew shouted, losing control of his vocal chords and his hope that everything would still run as intended. "They only invited me, which to me meant -"

"They don't want me here? The future Countess of Grantham? I don't believe it!" Mary's eyes had gone wild now. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips were chapped and bloodless, and all that seemed to have been present in that cheerful Lady Mary moments previous had vanished. "Why wouldn't they?"

"What?" Matthew asked dumbly. This earned him a gruesome glare. "They...must not approve of it," he rapidly explained, afraid that Mary would have swallowed each word had he been too slow with his speech.

"But why? What danger is there in a woman attending a simple meeting?" Mary reached for the door to the conference room; Matthew could not stop her, and before he could realise it, the two of them were back in the awkwardly silent room. There was no doubt that the outside conversation had been vaguely heard.

Mary recollected herself and addressed the men formally: "I do apologise for the abrupt intermission. Might I ask what is the eligibility for attending such meetings as this?"

Mr. Murray began to turn her down. "Milady, we simply do not have any time to -"

"Please, James, let her speak," York defended. He had remained standing, though it seemed that he was now anxious to sit. Murray sighed and nodded, resigning his disapproval and submitting to Mary's words at the present moment.

"Very well," Mary began. "Since you all know who I am, you will find it just as shocking as I do that I am not allowed to sit or even participate in this meeting. You will agree with me that there is much to be discussed for the next month, and I hope that it does not insult you to know that I believe it to be my place to partake in this convention."

A few nodded in agreement, but the majority still held a stone-cold countenance. Matthew looked away in embarrassment. _It is not that I do not approve of women holding positions in meetings,_ he assured himself. _I just don't see the point in her trying to win this impossible case._

The woman had not finished speaking. "Therefore, I ask that you at least consider to allow my presence in the month's conversations, as I would feel it a great loss and a shame for the future Countess of Grantham to have no part in the determination of Downton's later years."

No one dared to rebuke the brave Lady Mary Crawley, for - in this situation - that would have been a sin. And so silence thrived for the minutes during which Mary bowed her head and left the room.

...

"I am sorry, Mary," Matthew spoke to the back of his wife; she was still livid with him, since he had done nothing to defend her points. She made her way through the halls and at last approached the door offering a warm evening air outside. "Wait," he interjected.

Mary gradually turned to meet the repenting eyes of her husband. "I am leaving. The eight o'clock train should still be at the station, but I will have to hurry. Goodbye."

Matthew did not know what had become of his wife. Did she not understand that excluding even the women of her rank in society was a complicated matter when it came to business? Maybe it was not; maybe the educated, well-to-do men waiting for Matthew to return were _wrong_ about refusing the presence of the future countess. Perhaps they had never encountered such a situation and needed to beg for her forgiveness.

He persisted with her: "Stay one night more, please. I will be finished here in one hour; then we can have dinner and return to my hotel -"

"No, Matthew," Mary cut in. Tears suddenly clouded her vision. Was she about to cry? If so, what for? Had it all caught up with her, the speedy hello and goodbye at Downton Station, the unwillingness of her husband to fight for Mary's position in the convention? Whatever had caused her emotions to come flooding in, it had certainly struck a powerful chord. "I cannot stay here. Not now that I have humiliated myself and our family in front of such important people!"

That was the end of it. Mary turned for the door, desperate to get away from the one person who had aroused in her such painful thoughts and doubts. It was too much for her, and (though she did not know this) it was too much for Matthew as well. He had to wipe the salty tears from his eyes before entering the meeting once more.

Just as he had, he heard his wife's name: "...Lady Mary _should_ be entitled to a voice in - ah, Mr. Crawley." Matthew apologised for his second leave of absence and quickly sat down in his chair. Murray, who had the seat adjacent to the future Earl of Grantham, leaned toward him and remarked, "There are mixed opinions on allowing Mary to stay and participate with us."

"It's too late; she's catching a train -"

"Leaving?" Murray questioned, much louder than he had wished. The entirety of the table's members averted their attention to Downton's lawyer. "Lady Mary is leaving," he explained to them.

The room was no longer silent; everyone had begun to talk to one another, and the environment had after twenty seconds become so horrendously disorganised that an American man called Richard Nelson bellowed, "Let us focus once more!"

Once everyone had ceased to speak, Nelson proceeded, "We must decide now whether Lady Mary Crawley should be allowed a seat in this convention. If she is about to leave - which appears to be the case - let us vote: those in favour of her participation, say 'I'!"

"I!" There had been very few who had not consented thus.

"Those not in favour, say 'nay'."

The choice was clear: almost all agreed that it was right and wise to let Lady Mary in on the month's series of meetings. "Very well then," Nelson remarked. "It is decided that the future Countess of Grantham has a place in this convention. Mr. Crawley, please inform her ladyship that she may stay for the remainder of the convention, and that it is with honour that we all welcome her into the business matters of Downton."

Matthew could not believe his ears. He was ecstatic, yet he knew that he had to act quickly if he desired to catch Mary before the train departed the station. He thanked the group and exited the room with urgency. Oh, how his heart ached to tell Mary the news, to extend his arms and embrace her, and to explain to her that he had failed her and begged for her forgiveness and unity!

Because for days on end, he had felt that they had been so apart from one another, so distant, so _empty._

So had Mary felt this way, and it would both pain and relieve Matthew when he learnt it.


	5. Distance

"Mary!"

She who had heard her name turned around. It was Matthew. _He has come to say goodbye, _she thought bitterly.

Matthew Crawley sprinted over to his wife, who was on the verge of stepping up onto the train. The station was full of life in this evening hour, creating yet another obstacle that lay between the man and the woman. Stationmasters yelled, "Next stop is for Yorkshire!" whilst families and friends embraced before parting ways. There was an unusually great number of children around them - some screaming and some bawling - and this made Mary uncomfortable. She did not know why, but something about their presences brought the young woman to the previous day …

"_Are you and Matthew…getting settled?" Rosamund questioned her oldest niece, keeping a wary eye on her daughter as Mary hurried about the room, preparing the bed and the warm water for her aunt._

_Mary expressed the following with no emotion: "We are just as settled as we ever will be."_

_"__I mean," the other persisted, "are you both getting on well with…oh, you know what I mean!"_

_"We're getting on __fine," replied Mary, as unenthusiastically as she could muster. Rosamund hated these laconic responses popping out of her niece. Whereupon she chastised, "You could be a little more descriptive with me…"_

The conversation had ended thus, since Rosamund's leg had momentarily taken the breath out of her lungs, alarming Mary to act swiftly and diligently. The preceding words between aunt and niece had become a distant memory to Mary.

And as Matthew hurried over to her - through the bustling mess of people who pushed and shoved around him, though it mattered not to the man whether these hindrances were rude, because all Matthew could imagine was reconciliation with his wife - Mary felt her mouth drop. It was not an awe-inspired, astounded parting of the lips; rather, she gazed upon his feature, eager and willing as it appeared, with adoration. And it was now - though the woman would never have imagined the timing to be so - that Mary's heart could not conceal the very topic of her recent conversation with Aunt Rosamund.

As she stood there, now aboard the train, Matthew came over to her. He dared not climb up the short steps to retrieve her from the vehicle, for he knew that the stationmasters were strict in Manchester. Instead, Matthew exposed the wonderful truth to his wife, beaming even before he began with a succinct speech. "You can stay. The meeting committee has agreed that you are vital to determining Downton's future. Here." He held a hand out to Mary, intending for her to receive it. But she did not do comply.

Mary could not find the words - the right words, to be exact - to express her thoughts and emotions at that moment. She looked beyond her husband to stare at the children, and they were angelic even in their weeping and disconsolation. She thought of the words that she wished would speed out of her honest mouth: the words that expressed how she still felt distant from her Matthew, and that their failure to begin a family made the situation worse.

And while all these reflections transpired in Mary's mind during such a sweet, short interval, Matthew remained below her, confused and rather discouraged by his wife's present isolation from him. "Are you coming?" was all that he could produce.

Mary's hurting eyes slowly refocused in her husband's direction. "You were willing to spend your time here…for one entire month." She inhaled through her nasal cavity, allowing for her lips to rejoin. A stationmaster walked by and urged the two to make haste with their farewell.

"This is not a goodbye," assured Matthew to the woman once the stationmaster had passed by. "Oh, Mary. What was I thinking? God knows how long I would have lasted without you! And to make things worse, I was a fool of a husband at that meeting -"

"Don't chastise yourself," replied the other calmly, though an emotion - an animation - had broken through the surface of Mary's voice. It was almost as if her true self had been freed from constraint, and Mary was afraid. "You were in a difficult situation. You had to choose between the estate that has given you a new life…and me."

Matthew was about to shatter into a million sharp, disorganised pieces. Through a tearful face, he breathed his words: "I can't stand this… This distance…this _division_ between us. And I don't know if you have felt it, but I am going to go insane because of it -"

"I -" Mary gulped. "I _have _felt it_. _I have shunted it into another world for so _long_ now, and that was wrong. Because I know…every time that I look at you… I feel like nothing will be right between us anymore, with all of these intermissions in our lives -"

Matthew covered his face - neither to weep nor to curse - and whispered, "Thank the Lord. Oh, thank God!"

The woman could only make out a few words of his exclamations. "What is it?" she asked, and it was then that she made a move to exit the train.

Another stationmaster approached them and directed his speech at Mary: "Excuse me, ma'am. You are not permitted to leave the train." The man motioned for her to back up into the vehicle. "All aboard!" he interjected as he closed Mary's door and all others. Matthew had since then reverted his gaze to his wife. "Wait!" he called to the stationmaster, frantically glancing at Mary - who stood imprisoned by the door and window of the train - and the entire body of passenger cars, which all appeared ready for departure. Mary tried to pry open the door, but passenger cars only had handles on their exteriors.

"Stop, please! My wife…"

Not one of these words was audible, however. The train whistle screamed. The wheels made their first revolutions, gradually picking up the pace as the train left Manchester's station.

Mary's eyes stung with tears as she stared at her subordinate husband, who stood watching helplessly as his wife's distance from him expanded.


	6. An Unfriendly Arrival

She scorched herself in tears during the train ride home.

Nothing could have been more agonising, more frustrating, more heartbreaking than to have left the station in Manchester.

Once more, she had been snatched away from the reconciliation she had craved for so long - for _too_ long.

Everything was too bright for Mary's pupils. Her surroundings glared at her as the moon-disguised sun snickered down at her through the vehicle window.

She was not about to scream at it for its malicious glare; she was past anger.

More than that, really. Mary could not come to her senses, and her abdomen ached as the train chugged on through the countryside. She had felt nauseous over intervals, but nothing had lasted longer than a few minutes.

The woman had decided to shrug the pain off. What more did she need, after all, to put her down? Her husband was gone! Out of her sight! It was all too excruciating for Mary, who had travelled hundreds of miles to reunite with him, only to be a disappointment and a nuisance. Even when Matthew had revealed to her the wonderful news - that she could stay - she knew that her trip had been a mere protest with God, resulting in a failure of a mission: the failure to make amends with Matthew completely.

Because Mary knew deep down that she and her husband had not yet had the opportunity to understand the status of one another. He was still very unaware of how she truly felt, even though she had told him, "Yes. I _have_ felt the distance between us."

Mary covered her face with her left hand, reflecting upon how tired she had become - physically - over the past few weeks. Even before she had gone up to London to be with Rosamund, husband and wife had not seen much of one another around the house. One was always in a meeting, discussing the future of Downton. The other was periodically watching over Sybil's child, visiting the Dowager Countess, and assisting Cora with running the big house.

So it was neither Mary's nor Matthew's fault for the distance that had led to such intermissions. And as the woman discerned this on the train - it was destined to arrive at Downton around eleven - she felt for once at ease. When she calculated exactly how many occasions during which she or Matthew had been away from one another, it dawned on her that she was not alone in the suffering. Now, perhaps another would have realised this previously, since Matthew had confessed it unto his wife. But Mary was not herself lately - no, neither physically nor mentally.

...

"What in God's name were you thinking?" bellowed the Earl of Grantham, rather choleric in the late hours of a strenuous night.

Mary was at her father's mercy, drowned in the very liquid that sprung from her eyes. The Countess of Grantham was but a statue in the midst of the scene between the monster and the child, and Carson remained silent with his head held high whilst Alfred locked the front door.

The abbey was dark. Not one housemaid scurried round the halls, finishing her duties of the day before the clock struck twelve. Not one single light - save for the burning ember of Carson's candle - shone upon the scene of the disheveled woman amongst her sleep-deprived parents.

"It was perhaps very wrong for me to have allowed her to go, Robert," confessed Cora, "but can we discuss this in private? Your daughter has had a long and awful night!"

Robert sighed dramatically. "Do I think it proper to argue about my daughter's late-night return? Absolutely not, but there is no stopping that now -"

"Papa, please listen!" beseeched the Earl's daughter at last, her lungs heavily inhaling and exhaling the chilly night air as she composed herself. "I was supposed to stay. Matthew and the men on the board of the convention have decided that I can participate -"

"Wonderful," commented Robert under his breath. Then both his volume and his sarcasm increased: "They can invite a woman before they can allow the earl of the estate to the table."

Mary knew not how to respond, but Cora was blushing of utter abashment and could not bear another word in front of the servants. "We're going to bed now!" she whispered, taking her husband's hand and squeezing it a little too harshly. Robert looked back at his daughter, but before he could impart his last callous words, the young woman clutched her stomach and stared blankly at her father. Robert's eyes widened in alarm. "What is it?" he questioned.

Carson raised his eyebrows and suggested, "Might I escort her ladyship to the bedroom? I feel it necessary -"

"Certainly, Carson," Cora blurted, eager to get Robert away from Mary before he proceeded to snap at her. In a hurry, she led the Earl of Grantham back through the hallway and up the flight of stairs.

Alfred turned and left the two remaining silhouettes in the entryway. Carson would have seemed to be a ghost to the young woman, had Mary not known better. The beeswax candle had shrunk in size - and its light had done likewise in brightness - over the course of thirty seconds. "Thank you," Mary acknowledged the butler vaguely, offering him a faint smile.

He could only respond with, "I will see to it that Anna knows not to wake you before eight." The other nodded in accord. Carson picked up the luggage bag that rested against the wall adjacent to the woman and escorted Mary to her room.

Halfway up the staircase, Mary heard the ageing man's voice ask, "Are you well, milady?"

She turned to face the butler, though in her lassitude she made this motion gradually. "Am I... Am I well?" She had only repeated the question, and yet Carson accepted this response.

"I hope your ladyship visits the doctor. It might do more good than damage."

Mary pondered this for a moment. Suddenly the wrong words escaped through her mouth. "Why is it that you suggest this to me?"

"I believe that the answer has all ready made an appearance," replied a casual Carson. With that, the two proceeded silently - but on good terms with one another - to Mary's destination.

"Good night, Carson."

"Good night, milady."


	7. New Life and New Obstacles

"Lady Mary -"

"Doctor," the woman's voice interrupted. Mary breathed heavily and averted her gaze from the man who towered over her in the hospital room. She was lying on the stiffest bed imaginable - at least, that was how it seemed to a rather shocked Lady Mary, who could not feel the difference between her pounding heart and her pounding head. The day was overcast, which appeared to be a curse unto the land since it was the beginning of August. The trees swayed in response to the mild wind that swept against villagers' faces. Downton was busy this morning, despite the bleak and unpleasant weather.

Mary returned her attention to the doctor, who reminded her, "You _are_ one month gone, so I advise that you keep strenuous activity at a minimum, even though it may not feel to you that there is indeed a baby growing inside of your body." Clarkson, sensing more disappointment from the woman than utter joy, questioned her thus: "How do you feel about this? I worry that you are not as elated as I had hoped -"

"Matthew," the woman uttered abruptly. Clarkson's eyebrows relaxed when he understood her mind's immediate thought about her husband. "Yes, I am sure Matthew will be very pleased to hear the news. Does he know you suspected -"

"He knows nothing," reported the other gravely. "In fact...Matthew is in Manchester." Tears swelled in Mary's exhausted eyes; all ready she could hear the doctor's next words, urging her to stay at Downton and not to make the journey back to her clueless husband. _Oh, how Matthew will erupt with happiness when he knows about our child!_

Doctor Clarkson closed his lips and looked down at the floor. He had learned over the course of a lifetime how to cooperate with his patients, and the ways of Lady Mary were no less familiar to him than the geography of his hospital. He knew when to allow the woman a moment to express natural emotion, and Mary likewise understood when to compose and surrender herself to the doctor's wise instructions.

It was Clarkson's turn to exhibit sympathy: "I am sorry to hear that he is not home. I hate to reveal this sort of news to only one parent without certainty that the other will soon share in that same exciting knowledge.

"But I must stress the importance of refraining from travel, Lady Mary," Clarkson continued firmly. He could not imagine - nor could he bear to experience - another misfortunate loss of life due to careless mistakes in medical attention, as transpired with the late Sybil Branson.

"I appreciate your determination to prevent the undesirable, doctor. However, I cannot imagine waiting an entire month -"

"I am sorry, milady," Clarkson cut in. He focused his pupils on the woman with a solemn countenance. This made Mary blink in disbelief. "Upon examination, I noticed that the baby is slightly behind in development. If you make the journey, it would only increase the chances of something going wrong." The doctor cocked his head toward the small table to his right, where Mary's medical information lay. He retrieved it and felt the crisp paper in his hand. "Here are the results from today's examination. You may read them if you'd like, but I can assure you that I will not change my mind for the sake of you and your child's safety."

"I don't need to see it, thank you," acknowledged Mary quickly. "I suppose it is inevitable, then, that my family will make certain not to let me out of their sight."

"Then let it be so," concluded the doctor. "I do not want you or your child to face any danger early on; that would increase the probability of a miscarriage."

Mary shut her eyes closed for a moment. That word - menacing and malicious in her head - continued to repeat itself, resounding in a nastiness too uncomfortable for her to allow. She shook her head and told the doctor, "We certainly do not want that," shoving the idea into the corner of her mind. _No, certainly not, she confirmed to herself._

"No, indeed," agreed Clarkson in a low tone of voice. He offered the patient his hand by which Mary could support her back as she arose from the bed. Abnormal colours flashed round her as she returned to the upright position, for Mary had rapidly transitioned from lying down to sitting up. She inhaled deeply before lifting herself from the platform, and when Doctor Clarkson asked whether she needed further assistance, the woman - with no falter in her voice - declined the offer.

She was determined to play her cards strategically for the next few days, in the effort to return to her husband who breathed the oxygen of the earth hundreds of miles away. _Matthew would want me to come to him, _predetermined Mary. _Once he knows that his child is on the way -_

"I hope you do take precautions, Lady Mary," reinforced the doctor, "because I know Mrs. Crawley will give you a difficult time if you don't." He grinned at her; Mary acted accordingly with a smile, but she had no intention to tell even Isobel that she was with child.

She was certain that Matthew would be the first to know.

Matthew, who walked and conversed and smiled hundreds of miles away. _Did_ he smile?

Echoing through the woman's brain was the discouraging phrase: _hundreds of miles away...hundreds of miles..._

How was she to reunite with him?

...

Dinner was no lovely endurance - for all members of the Crawley family - and it began with criticism. As expected, Edith broke into her usual song of distasteful comments: "Why is it that you need to get back to Matthew so soon?" She spoke to her sister, though Edith's eyes remained fixated on her dish.

Cora had - over the course of a night, an ugly morning, and an eternal afternoon - sustained a discontented nature, emanating a disgust for anything against Mary's most desired return to Manchester. And when her youngest living daughter spat the first words of conversation at her family, the distraught Countess of Grantham made no hesitation to extinguish the negative subject. "Edith! Can we _please_ discuss something else?"

Cora could not win this battle. Mary piped up with a retort directed toward her sister: "Even were you to understand how it feels to take several intermissions from your husband -"

"Girls, please," Robert interrupted. Carson was about to serve the earl the main course, but the man held his hand before the plate to halt the butler's action. "I want to make it clear that this nonsensical convention business and Mary's involvement in it is finished. We will not discuss it anymore, because you -" he shot a frightening glance toward his eldest daughter - "are not setting foot on any vehicle until Matthew returns. Is that not hard to comprehend?"

Mary sighed. "Why is it so imperative that I not return? Can't you remember? They want me to participate! And what is so terrible about me being with Matthew? Are you upset with him -"

"Finally you understand!" Robert bellowed. Cora pursed her lips in agonising abashment; she was at the least thankful that neither Isobel, nor Violet, nor even Tom were present at the table. And yet this was simultaneously a curse: the setting was ripe for two sisters to stir a sour argument, one furious father to rant uncontrollably, and three staff members to cringe before the scene of a peace-impaired family.

Edith shifted in her seat. She, too, could smell the familial discord in the inconveniently small room, allowing the odour to consume the environment faster. Alfred looked to Mr. Carson for the signal to proceed with the second and third dishes. He quietly nodded, although the hostility between the Crawleys made his work more arduous than before.

A minute's time was all that the family could manage without any conversation. Mary continued stubbornly with the previous discussion: "Matthew does _not_ want to be there alone, Papa. He and I expected to be together in those meetings."

"You and him," stated Robert plainly. The man took a swig of wine and set the glass down with a clang. "Just you and Matthew. But did those insolent people think to invite the Earl of Grantham? No, of course not; he must not be important to Downton's future! Certainly not, since the old man is bound to die within the next year!"

"Robert!" Cora interjected, jerking her head to the left with fiery eyes and an intimidating glare. Naturally, she had at first startled her husband.

"Perhaps you should come with me, then, to settle the miscommunication!" offered Mary in such a high volume that the butler across the room looked up from pouring the wine.

"Miscommunication?" repeated a livid Earl of Grantham. "Does that sound right? A miscommunication, otherwise known as the failure to summon the owner of this estate? Ha! A miscommunication could never be so malevolent." He picked up his fork and aggressively took another bite from his meal.

Edith sought resolution to the conflict. "Perhaps we should write to the men in charge, demanding that you take part in the convention," she suggested to her father. He did not welcome the proposal.

"Right, and you will write the letter, since that is your professional occupation, Edith. Who else has any marvellous ideas?"

Mary covered her scarlet-coloured face in her hand. The Countess of Grantham's sapphire eyes expanded in width as she averted her attention from the table to the servants, sighing in disbelief that her husband dared to encourage the argument further. "This ends now, Robert," she hissed.

"Please, Papa, come with me if you feel that writing will not solve the problem!" Mary urged.

"I would never," came the immediate reply.

"Mary, we will not continue this," Cora pressed.

"I want Matthew to come home," Robert declared. "Then I can give him a long talk about consenting to such suspicious conventions as this one, much less leaving his wife for an eternity!"

"But he can't leave," explained his daughter. "He signed a contract -"

"Of course!" the Earl of Grantham laughed in sarcasm. "They have made a contract behind my back, binding one of my own to their secretive convention in which I am not involved! Don't any of you see what this is? They are building an army against me, against us aristocrats! Carson, may I please have some more wine?"

"Certainly, milord."

"Certainly not!" Cora shot back. "Carson, please pardon his lordship as I take him straight to our bedroom." She freed herself from her seat at the table and glared at her husband. It took only this gesture for Robert to understand and to obey his wife. Mary and Edith likewise arose from the table, which held their unfinished meals.

"Do not question me about anything," demanded the older sister. Edith's mouth opened in exaggerated surprise - as well as annoyance - by Mary's unfailing presumption that she would punish her sister further.

"I do not know why you always think so ill of me," admitted Edith softly. Mary rolled her eyes and passed by her sister into the drawing room. An irregular aching commenced within her, bringing the woman to only one thought: _Matthew's child lives inside of me...and he has not the slightest idea._

Mary did not ask for Anna's assistance that night. Instead, she packed.


	8. The Pub

"Is there a 'Matthew Crawley' staying in your hotel?"

"I am sorry, ma'am; he checked out two hours ago," came the response from the telephone. Mary, discouraged that yet another misfortune had arisen, sighed in disappointment. The first misfortune had been her father's spotting of a travel-ready bag in the entryway four mornings previous - because Mary had attempted an escape to Manchester, to _Matthew_ - and now the woman, desperate to return to her husband, had lost track of his whereabouts.

"Is there any way by which I can know where he has gone? Mr. Crawley is involved in an important convention, and if the meetings have been transferred to another region -"

"We have little information about the meetings, ma'am. All we know is that Mr. Crawley had his expenses paid by the man in charge of the convention."

Mary felt cold. Perhaps she had a fever; every night following her failure to leave Downton, the woman had not slept well. The hand which secured the telephone in her grip began to shake, and Mary knew then that she had better end the conversation. "Very well. Thank you; goodbye."

As the woman fastened the device back into its counterpart, Mary detected footsteps that drew slowly nearer. She turned around, though only the grand staircase and a glint of sunlight met her gaze. Suddenly, a voice: "You won't be going, you know."

This evoked an emotional response contrary to that which Mary had expected. She had imagined herself giving a callous retort to her younger sister, or perhaps an ignorance of Edith's presence altogether. Nevertheless, Mary touched the foreign liquid droplets on her broken face, and - upon realisation of her state of weakness - stormed for the front door. Edith, too, was taken aback by her sister's unusual response; however, she found it unimportant to follow and comfort Mary. She thought it ridiculous that her older sister cared so dreadfully about returning to Manchester, and her counter argument to the question, _"Is_ it ridiculous to want to be with one's husband?" would be as follows:

"Can't one wait?"

...

Mary Crawley was softer than usual. Normally, she would have considered it pointless to take a trip to Downton Village. And yet her shoes crunched on the dirt path toward one of the pubs in the heart of the scene.

Her awareness of Matthew's disappearance from the hotel in Manchester discouraged her from figuring out a plan, and it was due to her lack of enthusiasm - her lack of courage - that the woman surrendered herself to a below-status restaurant.

The sight upon entering the pub could not have been more shocking to Mary: there was her brother-in-law, leaning against the counter with a drink in his left hand. He, too, stared at Mary in awe. The former chauffeur would never have imagined the conservative aristocrat to set foot in such a place. "Fancy meeting you here," commented Tom.

Mary could not conceal a smile. "I know." She turned toward the bartender behind the uncrowded counter. "May I please have some cider?"

"Yes, ma'am." The bartender averted his body from the woman and took to completing her order. Tom straightened his posture and offered his sister-in-law a seat at an adjacent table. Mary accepted.

"So," began Tom, "what exactly brings you here?" He rested himself in the wooden chair across from Mary's own seat.

"I wondered the same about you," returned the other with a grin. "You have been gone for days, and Papa never explained where you had gone. I recall that you had an important meeting with some of the local farmers?"

The bartender walked over to deliver the hot beverage. "Thank you," Mary acknowledged. Tom nodded to the server, indicating that he would pay.

After retrieving the money from his pocket and handing it to the bartender, the Irishman proceeded with the unfinished conversation: "Yes, Robert and I made a one-day journey out to a couple of farms. We negotiated a solution regarding fiscal issues, although we would have benefited from Matthew's guidance. He knows a whole lot more than I ever will." Tom's sincerity touched Mary dearly.

She swallowed before responding. "I presume you have heard... Matthew's in Manchester -"

"Is he?" inquired the man, taken by surprise that Matthew had travelled a long distance without his wife. "Is it a business conference?"

"Not in the way you would think," confessed she. "The thing is... Papa is rather upset about the whole situation. Matthew was the only representative from Downton to have been invited, which makes Papa furious -"

"Who is in charge?" asked Tom, grabbing his own drink from the polished oak table.

"Sorry?"

"Do you know who invited Matthew?" Tom tried again, now leaning in with his alcoholic beverage in his right hand and a thirsty sparkle in the eyes.

"No..." admitted Mary after a thorough reflection. _Why, I had forgotten to ask for the men in charge when I attended that meeting on my first evening in Manchester!_ "Unfortunately I must confess that, in a disadvantageous moment in time, I failed to inquire such things. And I usually do care about the details; you know how I am..."

"Strange, though, how the men in charge are not well enough known for you to remember them."

It took a moment before Mary could comprehend exactly what Tom had implied. "You're right... Now that I see it, I wonder why the men in charge failed to introduce themselves to me, when I first entered the meeting."

Tom finished his drink quickly and set it down on the table. The afternoon sun brightened the formerly-dark pub, causing for an annoying glare to shine from Tom's empty glass to Mary's pupils. "Sorry," apologised the man; and he swiftly moved the glass to the side.

"Now I worry, Tom," Mary continued, mind focused on solving the mystery of the month-long convention. "Papa thinks that the men in charge of the whole scheme have neither invited you nor him because they are afraid of allowing men of the aristocracy to -"

"I am no aristocrat!" exclaimed Tom boldly, turning from left to right in the hope that no one had heard his rather loud declaration.

Mary agreed; Tom Branson was not - and would never shape into - an aristocrat. However, she reasoned with him, "Perhaps they are clueless about your history. Perhaps they have drawn Matthew into a convention only because he is a well-known lawyer of the middle class!"

"They probably planned to have the convention in Manchester to get him back into the swing of middle-class life," mused the other, "which means only one thing: they want to turn him against us. Against your father, at least."

"Heavens," sighed Mary in awe. She stared at the pub door; the knob turned counter-clockwise and in came another customer. Tom looked at the clock on the wall. "It's time I returned to my daughter. Nanny was up all night with Sybil, and I promised that I would take over for her mid-afternoon today." He stopped to examine Mary's reaction. She did appear rather disappointed by the abrupt conclusion to the conversation. "I know I've let you down -"

"Please, Tom, you haven't. And I am grateful to you for listening to me... With Papa so against my every move, and Edith yanking my chains..." The woman calmly arose from the chair, whereupon Tom did likewise.

"I understand," he told her seriously. The man extended an arm in the direction of the door. "We can walk back to the house together - that is, only if you had no further business in the village." Tom opened the door for his sister-in-law, who assured him that nothing would have drawn her into Downton's bustling village.

"I do hope to convince Papa that I must find Matthew," continued Mary as they made the journey back to the big house. "My husband has left the hotel in which he stayed while I was shortly there; God knows where he's gone now."

"Does no one know where he is?" questioned the man, growing in suspicion that his brother-in-law had indeed fallen into an unfriendly scheme. Yet he had his doubts that the situation was very grave.

"No one knows. I phoned Murray, but I quickly learned that he and Matthew had checked into the same hotel. He, also, was not there."

"Perhaps they had to transfer to a different location. Oftentimes business conventions do that, and no one remains in one sure place for more than a few days."

"Perhaps, Tom," considered the other, "but I worry about him. If it is, in fact, a trap for my husband to devolve into his former, middle class self... There may be corruption from within -"

"I hate to think that such a thing might be happening," thought Tom in a somber tone of voice.

The two had reached the outskirts of the village. It was yet another overcast day, and the chilly air made Mary more uncomfortable. "I wish we could finish the summer season," she admitted softly.

"We all need the sunshine," agreed Tom. He stopped in his stride and surveyed the unhappy land round the estate. "Downton is a business, and without sunshine the farms will literally fail. I hope I am wrong about the convention; we need it." He chuckled, and so did Mary.

They would not chuckle for long.


	9. The Letter

Carson found delight in the early hours of the following morning. His two accompaniments in the servants' hall were John and Anna Bates, and this the butler took to be a comfort. Lord and Lady Grantham had fought at the dinner table the previous night - the subject of argument would be unsurprising - and Carson recalled how distressed Lady Mary had appeared, hardly able to lift the food into her mouth. Edith had acted similarly, but still there had remained a distinction between the two sisters' demeanours.

When Anna distracted the butler with the question, "Are you going to Crawley House today, Mr. Carson?", the other returned his mind to the valet and responded politely:

"I haven't decided yet, Anna. Her ladyship has not made up her mind."

The conversation made no sense to John. "What's this?"

"Her ladyship wants Mr. Carson to meet with Mrs. Crawley at Crawley House."

"Why doesn't Lady Mary go on her own?"

Carson interrupted the dialogue between husband and wife: "Not Lady Mary, Mr. Bates; her ladyship, Lady Grantham."

"My apologies," Bates quietly confessed. "But what business has she asked of you there?"

This time Anna spoke in the stead of Carson. "His lordship does not want anyone to come over here, and he has kept a close eye on her ladyship and Lady Mary -"

"So you have been asked to work as a spy, Mr. Carson?" questioned Bates, creases reestablishing themselves on his face due to the grin that so desperately radiated from his lips.

The butler frowned and replied, "Not since her ladyship has made this a task, Mr. Bates. And I should hope that neither of you give me or her ladyship away, because - if you might recall - his lordship has been rather sensitive lately." Carson turned his head to lock eyes with both members of his audience. Anna nodded and smiled, because she knew better than these two men that Lord Grantham was a nightmare to everyone upstairs.

"We respect and understand your wishes," she told the butler.

"Very good; now, if you will excuse me, I must hurry out of here before any more of the servants get up." He saluted Mr. and Mrs. Bates, quickly exited the room, and headed for the door at the end of the hallway. Gallantly he had planned these steps toward the outside world, however the opposite occurred; the only inquiry with which Charles Carson could present himself offered a frightening prospect: _Will this be an act of honesty?_

Because if not an honest action, Carson understood what would transpire should the Earl of Grantham discover the situation.

...

"Carson, you have come at a rather opportune time," Isobel Crawley welcomed the butler, swiftly leading him into the living room. As man and woman entered the room, Carson immediately took note of the opened letter sitting informally on the sofa. "I received this from Matthew - Mr. Crawley," Isobel corrected herself. She gestured for her unexpected guest to seat himself, but Carson shook his head.

"I cannot stay for long, Mrs. Crawley, or his Lordship might wonder where I am. Her ladyship sent me, and -"

"Lady Mary sent you?" cut in the woman. Her tone of voice had transformed in the latter assertion. Carson explained - yet again - that her ladyship was the Countess of Grantham.

"Excuse my presumption," apologised Isobel. "But this letter I received from Matthew -" she held up the envelope and unfolded piece of paper - "speaks so much of my daughter-in-law, and I worry about both her and my son." Isobel took a deep breath. "Forgive me for speaking so openly, Carson."

"I understand how this situation has affected all of us, ma'am," admitted the butler to the woman. He decided to finally sit down - something his host had all ready done.

Isobel smiled sadly and looked down at the black ink scrawled onto the paper. In its entirety, the letter read thus:

_Dearest Mother,_

_How I yearn to be back home among you and the family, chatting and laughing in the drawing room at the abbey. While I remain here in Manchester, my thoughts automatically travel back in time to the memorable childhood that you and Father created for me._

_Reflecting upon these such times brings me to thoughts about you and Mary. How are you getting along? I hope Mary is all right, because I imagined that several days ago she would have returned here to be with me._

_We were forcefully separated at the train station - I will explain to you the circumstances later - and since then, I have worried about my wife. Mary and I are not close anymore, and these words only scratch the surface of the magnitude at which this distance has struck us. Mary and I only briefly spoke about this, but we have no means of communication now. There is no telephone here in Mr. Murray's brother's house (the convention transferred us to Bolton), and I am afraid to write directly to Mary. Robert must be furious with Mary for having traveled here earlier in the week, so I thought you might send this message to her:_

_Mary: I am losing faith in the convention's prospects. It appears to me that these people involved are not actually concerned about Downton's plans for the future. Murray and I are considering to leave unnoticed, although that might prove a risk too critical to take._

_My darling, I need you even more than before. Now I realise that both we and our estate - yes, Downton will belong to us one day - are in trouble. Please take the next train to Bolton; you will find the exact address for Murray's brother's flat below._

_Mother, I cannot thank you enough for delivering the above message to Mary. I hate to confess that I see danger in the eyes of the businessmen at this convention. I have begun to question their legitimacy..._

_I must go. Love to all of my family._

_Matthew_

Isobel had only reread the first few sentences when Carson asked, "If I may, ma'am, what news has Mr. Crawley - that is, concerning the convention?"

"You may read it," the woman declared. She extended the arm with Matthew's letter to the accepting hand of the butler. "Thank you," Carson acknowledged.

"I hope you don't mind reading Mr. Crawley's note to Lady Mary. But I do think it vital to the situation at hand. I am afraid, however, that I will be unable to impart the information to my daughter-in-law."

It took less than one minute for the man to read every word. He returned his gaze to Mrs. Crawley with a grave and slightly alarmed countenance. "I will show the letter to Lady Mary."

"Thank you, Carson. I hope that this trip can go unnoticed by Lord Grantham," Isobel added, uneasiness present in her unstable voice. "I simply hope that circumstances can come to full resolution."

"So do I, ma'am," replied the butler in accord. "So do I."

...

Lady Edith Crawley had only picked up her fork to dive into Mrs. Patmore's breakfast dish when the butler walked into the dining room. His eyes searched for Lady Mary. She enjoyed her meal aside from Tom and Robert, who had engaged in conversation regarding Sybbie. Cora had not come down for the morning repast, which immensely discouraged Carson from delivering the letter to Lady Mary. He had hoped for the Countess of Grantham's presence, merely because Carson believed that Mary would not handle the situation properly - not alone.

When Robert noticed the tall figure standing just inside the room, he piped up: "We had wondered where you were, Carson. I am so accustomed to your presence during breakfast that it seemed foreign to eat here without -"

"Papa," interrupted Edith, "I think Carson has something to tell us."

"Very well, then, Carson," Robert acknowledged. "What is it?"

Mary intuitively lifted her eyes from the table. When the butler had important news, he was usually the one to speak first. _Why do I get the feeling that Carson needs to talk to me? _she wondered internally, finishing her bite of food in preparation to depart the dining room.

"Lady Mary," began Carson slowly. "Anna needs you upstairs. I do not know why, but she finds the situation urgent and asks for your assistance."

"I am on my way," came the response. Mary put the napkin on her lap onto the table and followed Carson eagerly out of the room.

"Milady, I had to twist the truth in order that his lordship would not demand to read this letter." He handed the woman the envelope.

Mary's eyes widened when she read "Matthew Crawley" on the return address. "Why did Mr. Crawley send this to his mother?"

"For the very same reason that I had to call you out on false pretences, milady." The butler suggested a better location for reading the letter - the library - and the two retreated there.

Once Carson closed the door, Mary released her internal thoughts. "Oh, my..."

"If it helps for you to know, milady, Mrs. Crawley wanted to give this to you directly. She believes that you must obey Mr. Crawley's request -"

"But how will I?" she blurted, finding no happiness in this letter - this one sign that Matthew was still alive, still in love with her...

"Well..." The butler moved closer to Lady Mary, who had by now settled down on one of the sofas. "...I can tell his lordship that you will go to the village this afternoon; in reality you will be at Downton Station, of course."

Mary put down the envelope and its corresponding letter. "I cannot believe this, Carson! What has become of my life? Am I a spy for my husband - and therefore a disobedient daughter to my father?"

"The convention, milady, is the problem; not you." This reminder seemed to temporarily calm the woman.

"There are more problems than that of the convention," mused Mary, thoughts hovering over Doctor Clarkson's warning not to travel for the sake of her unborn child. She almost confessed, "If I go, I will disobey Doctor Clarkson and I will do injustice to my baby." Almost.

Instead she sighed and dismissed her previous utterance. "I will go, but you must promise me, Carson, that you will cover for me. Not even Anna can know where I am going; please tell her I'm off to London. In fact," she decided, "Tell them all that I've gone to stay with Lady Painswick. I am sure that his lordship would not dare to argue."

When Mary's eyes first met those of Carson, she appeared tired and much older than she truly was. In seconds, however, she noticed a change in the butler's facial expression; whereupon the woman smiled softly. "If only Mr. Crawley knew how much you have helped me within the past week, Carson. I thank you - probably not for the last time."

The older of the two allowed a smile of his own to respond on behalf of Mary's gratitude. "The best of luck, milady."


	10. Reunited On Not the Best Terms

It would cost Mary her reputation as a lady of the aristocracy to elude Downton against her father's demands. The train departed Downton Station at noon; by four in the afternoon, the woman gathered her luggage at Bolton Station and left for Murray's brother's abode.

Despite the late afternoon hours, the sun provided discomforting heat to the region. Mary, burning on the taxi ride to the house, dreaded the remainder of the summer days. She wanted wintertime, and not coincidentally the time had brought in the past much jubilation and relief. Matthew had proposed to her in the midst of a light snowfall; how Mary dreamed of such a beautiful time with her husband, a time of warmth and comfort and hope. Hope that these intermissions would cease to put off their much needed time together, their time of intimacy and reassurance that they were still truly on the same side in this chaotic storm.

She paid the cabdriver when at last she had arrived at her destination. When Mary won a thorough stare at the house, she felt suddenly cold. No car inhabited the driveway, and all of the small house's curtains blocked its interior. Tentatively Mary walked up the pathway to the door; she had the slightest fear that Matthew had given her the wrong address, or that he and Murray had gone out for a while. The woman turned round to face the environment that had so cheerfully greeted her. _No one seems to be home,_ she observed. Indeed, every house on the street exhibited no signs of life.

Mary rapped on the door - she tried not to remain as quiet and as curious as the increasingly eerie atmosphere - and when at last the door opened, Mary spoke Matthew's name.

The man behind the door was, in fact, her husband. He recognised her voice and eliminated the divider between them. "Mary," exclaimed he.

She suddenly could not breathe. A figure lay uncomfortably on the ground beyond them, and scarlet-coloured fluid flooded the figure and its surroundings.

Matthew immediately warned her, "Murray has been shot. I called the doctor -"

Before the man could finish, Mary fell into her husband's arms - uncontrollably - and lost consciousness. "Mary!" Matthew shouted, startled by the woman's unusually sensitive reaction to Murray's display. He carried her to the sofa in the living room, tears streaming down his wan face. The man cried over his wife's fainted body, kissing her forehead and repeating to himself these words:

"Forgive me. Oh, darling, please forgive me."

...

When Mary Crawley could remember who and where she was, the moonlight punished her exhausted eyes. The cushioned surface on which she lay provided reassurance that she was in a safe place: a bedroom, with a bed and a window and an unlit candle.

The woman noticed that she still donned the attire with which she had arrived at the house. _Where is my bag?_ she wondered, lifting her upper body from the bed for a better look around the perimeter of the room. She then saw it - her tiny luggage bag - lying against the opposing wall. Rather eager to dress into proper nighttime attire, Mary slid off of the bed to obtain her nightgown.

...

It was late, but Matthew could not sleep. He worried about everything: the untrustworthy members of the convention, James Murray's health (the lawyer would thankfully survive, though his time in the hospital would endure for a month), and - of course - his wife. And so it morphed into a joyous occasion when Mary came forth into Matthew's guest bedroom.

She gradually made her way over to the bed on which Matthew sat. It was almost foreign for the two of them to find silence in the same room, together; for, after all, every other meeting together had consisted of misfortunes.

"How are you feeling?" Matthew asked her. He had so dreadfully wanted to add "my darling" to his assertion; naturally, however, the man was shy and taken aback by the entirety of the situation. "It took me by surprise."

Mary understood his vague expression. "I am sorry that you had to meet me on such terms...and after everything that has transpired with the convention -"

"Mary, I should not have been so selfish," interrupted Matthew boldly. "You really should not be here. Murray was shot by two of the men whom you saw at that first meeting. They were trying...they meant to shoot me."

"Oh, God," whispered Mary. She moved closer to Matthew, who got up on instinct to embrace his wife. "Matthew, you cannot continue with this!"

"Murray and I raised suspicion at the last meeting, two days ago," explained he. "We asked why Robert and Tom were not invited, and why everyone has made the convention so secretive... I think that the ones in charge have brought me here to turn me against Robert. They have all ready asked if I plan to sell Downton in the future."

Husband and wife disengaged themselves from the embrace at this moment. "What?" spoke Mary weakly. Her physical and emotional pain sent her mind reeling, making it difficult for the woman to act with her usual air of confidence. "What do the members from Parliament say about this?"

"They are not who Murray and I thought them to be," Matthew responded reluctantly. "In fact...there may be no authoritative figures present - at any of the meetings. Which means one thing."

Mary looked into his cloudy blue eyes - they had, over the course of one week, been deprived of all happiness: they had been deprived of Mary's dark brown ones. The woman finished her husband's sentence in her head, for she knew that he would much rather avoid the assertion and its malicious consequences. _The convention is not legitimate. Mr. Murray and Matthew have involved Downton in a corrupt, irreverent situation which will result in Papa's extraneous fury -_

Tears flooded Matthew's eyes once again, and Mary could not continue her internal thoughts because - for once in a disgustingly long time - she was moved by Matthew's emotion. "Oh, Matthew, I cannot imagine..."

The woman, too, sobbed; but her tears resulted from happiness just as much as sorrow. "I have missed you. I want us to go home, to flee from this mess..."

Matthew touched her cheek and gently kissed her on the forehead. "It will not be safe for either of us there. These people meant to kill me, and I have no doubt they will try it again. Their first stop will be the abbey -"

"London, then," resolved Mary desperately. She was more enthusiastic to settle a place at which the two of them could temporarily shove reality to the side. "Rosamund will not object when she hears what has happened."

Matthew covered his face despairingly with his hands. "If only she did not have to hear about this... Very well. I want to telephone Robert when we arrive there, to warn him that Downton must tighten up on its security. We will leave in the morning for Rosamund's -"

"The _morning?"_ repeated Mary in disbelief. She could not imagine having to conjure enough energy to depart for yet another train ride in seven hours!

Her husband stared deeply into her eyes. "We must leave here as soon as we can. We face the danger of those wretched men returning to kill me."

"But why would they return, when they know that you will have notified the authorities about the incident?" questioned Mary in a quandary. "Would they not want to flee from this area -"

"They knew I had no means of contacting the police, Mary. I don't know what will happen, but we must leave here as soon as possible."

"And that means hours from now, when I have not had the chance to regain my composure or my strength?"

Matthew gulped. The last thing he wished to impose upon his wife was a burdensome escape plan, after she had travelled hundreds of miles to be there with him - under his own orders. "I promise, my darling, that we will benefit greatly from this quick departure. The faster we handle all of this, the more certain it will be that Downton can remain unscathed." He took a deep breath and continued, though his following thoughts were not to be happily received by Mary: "Foremost, I hope that nothing so destructive as Murray's injury occurs at home -"

"Oh, for the help of God, say no more!" The woman looked down at her abdomen, and suddenly she realised that she had not revealed to Matthew that she was with child. _What a horrible time to tell him!_ she thought negatively, hushing all wistfulness for her dear husband's reaction to the unspoken declaration.

Snapping out of the trance caused by internal musings, Mary reverted her body back to the bedroom door. She bawled as she stormed through the hallway and into her guest bedroom; she had been so eager to please Matthew with the words. _It is no wonder that everything is so against me, putting off my happiness - our baby - for yet another many days._

Truthfully she dreamed of telling Matthew within the next few minutes rather than the next few days. Only she could discern how unrealistic that would be, when her family at Downton stood against a cannon that could fire at any moment.

She and Matthew left the house at eight o'clock in the dreaded morning.


	11. The Next Morning

Robert received a telephone call the following morning, as soon as Matthew had taken grasp of the modern technology - which occurred at the train station in Bolton. The conversation was brief:

_"Hello?"_

_"Robert -"_

_"Matthew, by George! What has come over you and my daughter -"_

_"Robert, please listen to me. Downton is in danger. And so are Mary and I, and all of us."_

_"God, what have you done this time?"_

_"There is no time to explain in detail…but the convention was a trap. Its founders shot Murray in an attempt to kill me. Mary is here -"_

_"What in _hell_ did you do?"_

_"Please let me finish, Robert. Mary is fine, and we are going to stay with Rosamund until you give us the signal that all is well at the abbey."_

_"And you presume that these maniacal people are going to search for you here, foremost?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Good God in Heaven… Well, I should alert the staff, and I will call the police to notify them that Downton needs especial security. Oh, my…"_

_"Thank you, Robert. I have to…the train is here. We will call tonight to check on all of you at home."_

_"Take care of my daughter, please. Goodbye."_

_"Of course; goodbye."_

Matthew bothered not to relay to his wife the rather discomforting dialogue. Instead, he returned to the bench on which his wife had settled, and the two of them boarded the eight o'clock morning train.

To his disappointment, Mary had not seemed to be her usual morning self. The normal Mary Crawley was irritable; not until the afternoon did the woman win back her compassion and her gentleness.

But on this day, Matthew observed a quiet Mary - an unsettling sort of quietude, as if her very soul had escaped her body - whereupon his hand floated over to one of hers, and he gently rubbed its surface. "I am concerned about you."

He saw her ribcage slowly rise and fall. Mary blinked as gradually as one can with such an action, and as she parted her lips Matthew spoke once more: "Would you tell me if anything was wrong?"

_"Nothing_...is wrong," she breathed; indeed, the sound had left her throat without colour - without tone - and this evidence of weakness startled her husband.

"If I need to interrogate you to find out what it is, I certainly will, Mary. We have time." Matthew aimlessly tapped a finger belonging to his left hand - the hand that touched the window of the train. Everything outside was a lucid presentation: opening shops, a clear blue sky, and healthy foliage gleaming about the surrounding countryside. _Why can't my situation be so clear as the outside world?_ questioned the man with such negativity that he rolled his eyes and silently scolded himself for his ungratefulness. _I have my wife here with me. What else could I need at this moment?_

Sleep was inevitable for Matthew, and so he surrendered himself to his bodily needs in mere moments following this cheerier musing. Mary noticed this and did likewise, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder.

...

"Anyone still in there?"

"No, it looks like he took his bags and left."

"Ah, then, I guess we'll be checking the abbey. Yorkshire, correct?"

"...I believe so. But what if Matthew Crawley has gone in a different direction -"

"I have men searching in Manchester, even in Dublin; but I think I'll make the journey to London as well."

"Shouldn't we examine the ticket sales at Bolton Station? I wouldn't be surprised if Crawley took the train."

"A fine idea..."


	12. Look Outside

Rosamund Painswick greeted Matthew and Mary with a "Hurry inside, and tell me all that has transpired."

The streets of London bustled as ever. Rosamund's butler welcomed the guests inside, and when he closed the door all sound seemed to vanish. The silent nature of the house reminded Mary of James Murray's brother's residence. She had hoped to forget that place.

"Now, I don't want you to tire yourselves out, telling me what has mandated your escape to my home," explained Rosamund seriously. She embraced Mary warmly and patted Matthew's stiff shoulder. "My, are you ever so tense, Matthew! Let us transfer to a more comfortable environment."

Whilst their host led them into the library, Mary cocked her head to face her husband. "Try to relax, darling. Now is the time, because later -"

"There is no time for relaxation, Mary," cut in Matthew calmly. "At least...not for me."

"Nonsense," the other remarked. "My Aunt Rosamund has opened her home to us _for_ relaxation. And for safety, of course."

The two of them entered the library and took their seats at opposing sofas. A marble mantle engulfed the grand fireplace that sat dormant in the midst of the fixture of furniture. "Now," began Rosamund, "tell me exactly why you have made a stop here before returning to the abbey."

When Matthew finished with his lengthy speech, Mary analysed her aunt's facial expression. Rosamund appeared grave. Everything about her usually-welcoming brightness had faded, and her age shone through the wrinkles around her eyes. This sort of news literally weakens the body.

"Do you suppose that these men will - who are they, exactly?"

"They are two co-owners of a small business that exists to furtively buy valuable estates from the earls. Mr. Gregory Samuels and Mr. Sydney Halbert are the two men in charge. I assume they hired the few men who tried to kill me."

Matthew adjusted himself in his seat. Mary exhaled, and while the action yielded little sound, it distracted Rosamund almost instantly.

"Mary?" she pressed. "Are you well, my dear?"

Matthew answered for his wife: "She has endured more than I would ever wish of her, Rosamund. I am proud of her tolerance, but I am certain that she craves rest and relaxation." He smiled warmly at the two women. "Come to think of it, so do I."

"Of course," agreed Rosamund with a grin. "That is why you are here - aside from the reason you gave. But I do hope that Robert secures the abbey, so that you both can return to your own home. This is your home, as well; never forget that."

Mary suddenly woke up from a temporary daydream. "We know that, Aunt Rosamund, and we thank you - immensely - for your hospitality." That which the younger woman uttered sounded rather routine, as if she had practised it on countless occasions.

Nevertheless, Rosamund responded, "If only this meeting were on better terms." Matthew nodded in accord. "Anyway," she proceeded, "shall we discuss that lawyer - James Murray, isn't it?"

"Yes, and I am confident that he will do well with recovery," announced Matthew. "I do worry that he will not make it to Yorkshire in time. We need him to be present before the judge -"

"You will for certain see these men in court, then?" verified Rosamund, frowning. She wished not to believe that the name of Downton would show itself in yet another court case. _Bates's trial was hell enough for the house,_ she recalled.

Matthew affirmed Rosamund's inquiry. "Unfortunately, the courts will provide our only means by which Downton has a chance of winning...even though we should win."

"Why can't these men admit their wrongdoings?" wondered Mary, straightening herself up on the sofa. Rosamund's eyes narrowed. Matthew appeared confused by his wife's questioning.

"They have already committed severe, illegal acts. Why, when so many know about their sins -"

"Not many," corrected Matthew. "Not many at all, and because there were only a few of our lot who took part in the meetings with them, we are in trouble. The jury may not declare the case to be in our favour."

Mary shut her eyes and pressed a cold hand to her husband's arm. Rosamund got up from her chair upon noticing that her niece needed to be alone with Matthew. But Mary recognised this and withdrew her hand from its position. "I am exhausted. If you don't mind, I would like to catch up on my sleep."

As quickly as Mary Crawley had exited the library, Rosamund announced that she had to "inform the cook that there are three mouths to feed".

Matthew found himself alone to stare at the hundreds of books stacked on multiple bookshelves. Deciding to distract his mind with a book, the man lifted his body from the sofa and picked out a novel in which to engross himself.

...

When Matthew at last entered the guest room for the night, Mary averted her gaze from the window to her husband. The countenance she donned had an extraordinary way of worrying Matthew beyond measure. Mary's complexion was more pallid than usual; her eyes held tears between the eyelids, and long dark lines surrounded the region.

After giving her husband such a blank stare, Mary commanded, "Come look out the window."

Matthew obeyed without hesitation; he had a suspicion that his worst thoughts would come to life: that the men who had tried to kill him would find him.

His eyesight was sharp enough to detect three figures in a shadow caused by the building opposite to the one in which he stood. Mary had remained beside the window the entire time, and so she too watched the sight. "Is it _them?"_

Most unfortunately, it was. Matthew motioned toward the curtains. "We must carefully cover the window. Slowly, now, because if we draw attention toward this room -"

"Damn the room," exclaimed Mary, frightened as ever now that Matthew - her rock, her foundation - was scared. "They obviously know where we are, and if my Aunt Rosamund suffers from this I will never forgive myself!"

"Mary, please," reasoned the other. He could not afford to lose his wife in this battle between insanity and composure. "Yes, these men are dangerous, but if I can reach the telephone in time..."

"In time? So you think these men are about to break through the glass of a window? How could they expect to survive the night without being caught?" Mary put a hand on her head and turned in the dark room toward their bed. She knelt down beside it and began to pray, "Lord, if it be your will, please drive these demons away from us..."

Meanwhile, Matthew worked cautiously to bring the two curtains together. The intensity of the moonlight depreciated as he gradually blocked the outside world from the bedroom. "There," he declared. "Now I must warn Rosamund -"

"No," pleaded his wife, "please do not let her know about this! If we do call the police, she might never have to know that these men were here!" Mary got up from her present position and started toward Matthew and held one arm out in the way of the door, as if she could prevent him from abandoning her to remain in the confines of the room. How she absolutely _detested_ his sense of duty at this moment! It irked her, and yet it comforted her faith that Matthew Crawley almost always had practicality on his side.

"I am not letting you leave," came her strong, weak voice. Yes, it was both powerful and wan; for the storm braver could do such with her voice, with her actions, with her physical being: she could perform anything boldly, should the time prove critical. Matthew was astounded by her assertion, whereupon he halted in his strides toward her and the door.

He asked her this, softly: "Are you all right, Mary?"

No response. Mary turned away from him, though it pained her so. How could she ignore him when for so long she had been aching to _be_ with him?

"I want to know what is wrong, because clearly you are not all right. Before I leave to tell Rosamund -"

She had for so long succeeded in preventing herself from unleashing violent emotion. Now Mary let it out. Sobbing in Matthew's midst was more embarrassing than it was redeeming, and for this she felt guilt. Were she feeling normal - that is, as close to a "normal" human as Mary Crawley could manage - the woman would have appreciated Matthew's comforting embrace, or his assuring whispers of "I am so, so sorry" and "I love you dearly".

And despite his wife's continuous rejection at this moment - her reluctance to admit through bodily gesture that she truly did need him, her inability to believe that she, too, could be the one to whom a helping hand is given - all this Matthew endured with firm yet gentle arms wrapped around his wife's smaller build, and he did not complain. Nor did he decide that he had to tell Rosamund about the men outside.

Which was a bad thing.


	13. Critical Circumstances

It happened shortly after Mary had shut her eyes closed. A crashing sound from downstairs caused a cacophony in her ears, and when she shot upward in the bed, her first thought was most frightening. _Those men... Oh, Matthew!_

"Matthew!" she whispered, pulling on his arm from under the bedcovers. It did not take him long to awaken; he squinted at his wife, not quite imagining the very reason for which Mary had summoned him from his slumber.

Mary shivered. She panicked. She hurried out of the bed to find her slippers, wondering what exactly she would do to save her aunt. _They will find her first_, she thought dreadfully. Turning once more toward her husband, she whispered, "They are inside the house!"

Immediately she had his attention. _"What?"_

"I heard a crashing sound," explained Mary. "Probably glass. We will have to be careful..." As quickly as the horrifying noise from downstairs had startled Mary moments previous, she began to weep. "Oh, what have I done? Asking Aunt Rosamund to let us stay here -"

"What have _you_ done?" came the response. "Mary, this is _my_ fault! I need to bring Rosamund over here, before she takes to the staircase." Matthew finally recognised that his wife had tears flowing down her pallid cheeks. "I am so sorry, my darling. I need you to follow my instructions. If they are after me, there is no way that you will be with me while they are here."

Mary detested him for rejecting her accompaniment. "Why not?"

"I can't take that risk now. Lock this door and remain here until I return with Rosamund. It will be safest -"

"No," blurted Mary instantly, indifferent about her husband's reaction to her disobedience. "I will only agree with -"

Their dialogue was interrupted by an outside voice: "...hear something...?"

"Damn this," muttered Matthew, pushing his tense fingers into his forehead. "They must have used a gun to get in. I cannot go out there." His words had defeated him. Matthew gripped the nearest wall with his hand and lowered his head. This puzzled Mary.

"We cannot give up," she protested. "I will not..." She bawled as she finished her sentence: "I cannot allow my aunt to suffer!" Matthew remained with his back to Mary, and he did not speak. When Mary realised this, she opened the door to the room and left.

...

_The men are still in the living room, _Mary guessed as she strode down the hallway to Rosamund's bedroom. Once she located it, the woman rapped on the door. "Aunt Rosamund, it's Mary! Please let me in!"

As if on cue, the door clicked open just as Mary had finished her speech. But no one was there to greet her; in fact, not a single element of the room looked as if it had been occupied by her aunt. "Aunt Rosamund -"

A figure emerged from behind the door. It was not Rosamund. "Your aunt is downstairs, givin' us answers. What exactly have you and Crawley been plannin', and why are you here?"

Nothing but breath escaped from Mary's lungs. She was speechless. When the man motioned toward her, however, she exclaimed, "Why are _you_ here? What do want with us?"

"Your liar of a husband signed the contract, but he broke it," the man snarled at her. He had unkempt, dark hair; his face appeared raw, almost as if the man had been recently involved in a fight. "We don't like untrustworthy people," he continued, "so that's why we're here: to give Crawley and his family a taste of dishonesty!"

...

It had been due to Mary's thief-like disappearance from the bedroom that Matthew had not looked away from that wall until he heard screaming from outside the room. "Mary!" he yelled, automatically sensing that it had, indeed, been her voice. _Oh, Mary, what have I done?_

He gasped for breath that seemed not to pass through his lungs as easily as usual. _How could I have let her down?_ _She will never forgive me,_ he assumed. And for some time, Mary thought the same.

He found his wife downstairs, and to Matthew's utter astonishment, Rosamund was amid the group. In the entryway stood three of the men from the convention, all donning darkly-coloured attire. One of the men's rough hands were clasped around Rosamund's upper arms, and Mary had required two of the men to pin her down to the floor.

"Leave these women alone!" bellowed an infuriated Matthew Crawley. He was prepared to use physical force to ensure the protection of his family.

"Matthew..." began Rosamund, but she had no suggestions as of what the free man could do. She blinked back tears; for even she thought that it was the end.

One man who gripped Mary pulled out a gun. "I'll use this on your wretched wife, Crawley. Wait longer, and I'll shoot the both of 'em." All this the man had spoken with a disgusting tone of calmness.

Matthew slowly came down from the last step of the staircase. He glared at the men who had so impudently treated these women of status and honour. "You will not - under any circumstances - touch Lady Painswick or Lady Mary. When the authorities hear of your sophisticated approach to a broken contract -"

One of the men pointed the gun at Rosamund. "Not the expected approach, I know. But you see, Crawley, we're not interested in your family. We're not interested in the press. We want your estate, and once the letters get through to your beloved Downton Abbey, everyone will know that it was you who killed us. It was _you_ who put a scandal on your family, and they will not have anyone to argue otherwise -"

"Because you will not be there to tell the tale," finished one of the other men. "No, you won't gaze another _eye_ upon Downton; you'll be dead."

Mary pressed her lips together. She had tried to conjure all of the courage she could muster, but that had only brought her to her present position. Instead, she decided to distract the men with her helpless pleas: "You will not hurt him! Please, you know not what you are doing!"

"Save your breath for when your cowardly husband lies dead at your feet," retorted the irritated man holding Rosamund. "Samuels, withdraw the gun for a moment. I think we need more information from this lot."

"Fine," agreed the other. "We need to know where you keep all of -"

Mary had snatched the gun from the man who had begun to withdraw it; she fixed its front end at the man who held Rosamund. That was her most costly mistake.

"Mary!"

Matthew had shouted this no sooner than the two intruders who had pinned her to the ground swiftly smacked her across the face - simultaneously. Mary dropped the gun.

Meanwhile Rosamund struggled to free herself. "How dare you harm her!" she growled.

Matthew could not control himself; he rushed to his wife, and in a fraction of a second he decided to capture the lonely weapon on the floor.

Samuels's hand slammed on top of Matthew's; but the latter man had already secured the gun in his hand. Matthew screamed, "Stop this at once! There will be no more harm done to these women who have done nothing!"

The three avengers - as they truly believed they were - appeared startled for the first time. They loosened their grips on the fatigued women and looked to one another for a signal that did not come. Matthew wondered why they acted thus; he had not done so much as shouted at them - he had not even raised the firearm - and these men who had been winning the fight suddenly surrendered.

Mary - who, on the floor, was closer to the ground than her husband - felt a vibration from frequencies that she happily presumed to belong to sirens. _Someone called the police! _she cheered in her mind. She cocked her head toward Matthew, who remained with his eyes fixed upon the men. Indeed, they hardly had a grip on Rosamund and Mary; they were about to make a run for it. "Do not even think about it," Matthew whispered, sensing the intruders' best wish to elude the scene before the authorities arrived.

In her state of weariness, Mary momentarily closed her eyes and felt the bloodied areas of her face. Instinctively, she worried about the baby. _Have I caused great pain for my child?_ The hardest thought: _Is my child still _with_ me?_

Matthew knew not to worry about any of this; he was still quite unaware, but Mary thanked The Lord for this. _He would not have been able to endure these past moments,_ she mused. Dreariness came upon the young woman as the following events transpired: the police entered the house, arrested the three men, confiscated the weapon, and drowned the exhausted Matthew in a series of questions. Rosamund helped her niece upstairs to the bedroom - only because she was not as weak as Mary, although the older woman had not survived unscathed.

Before Rosamund opened the door to Mary and Matthew's guest bedroom, she asked her niece softly, "Would you rather rest in my room until Matthew finishes with the police?" Mary nodded. Her composure began to break: lips trembling, eyes watering, nose sniffling, lungs struggling. "Oh, my dear," sighed her aunt. Rosamund provided her with a comforting embrace, gently running her hand up and down Mary's back.

When - after a minute - the two disengaged themselves, Rosamund led Mary down the dark hallway to the very same room in which the stranger had grabbed and taken her downstairs. Mary thought about asking her aunt for a temporarily different environment, but she caught herself before the sound escaped from her voice. _Nothing in this house will be comforting,_ she concluded. _Then again, nothing at all will be comfort enough for me... Not for some time._


	14. Reunion Amid Tempest

_"We are so sorry, Lady Mary..."_

_"What? You're lying to me, this cannot -"_

_"The physicality of your latest activity has proved damaging to your child."_

_"...No... No, no, you're wrong! Where is Matthew?" _

_"Mr. Matthew Crawley does not know, milady. He will never know; you are obligated to keep this information from him."_

_"No, I beg of you! Please don't do this to me! You...you have...taken my baby away from me..."_

_"Milady, you must calm down. The kind men from Manchester will have Downton in their possession by evening, and all conflict will be resolved -"_

_"Oh, no... No, you cannot... My baby... You cannot take my baby away from me!..."_

...

"My darling," whispered a soft voice. Mary's eyelids flickered open to an awestruck Matthew. "You frightened me; were you having -"

"It's not... So it was not real?" breathed the woman. As she regained her senses, Mary stumbled on words, thoughtfully trying to explain to Matthew her utmost fear. "The hospital... I - I was told that it... There - there was... They told me..."

Matthew lifted himself completely from the bed, and he then took her hands gently to bring her own body upright. As he performed thus, Mary asked him a question that most surprised him: "Where are we?"

"Aunt Rosamund let us sleep here. Do you remember last night?" He could have punched himself after the former had jetted out of his larynx.

Indeed, Mary did suddenly remember. She trembled, whereupon Matthew wrapped his arms around her for warmth. He detected her unsteady heartbeat - an unforgettable pattern that he would never forgive himself for hearing - and removed his hands to question, "Would you prefer it if I -"

"Did not know?" Mary had just skewed the conversation, having figured that Matthew had meant something about the baby. She quickly realised that her husband's portion of the query did not mean that which she had assumed. "Please forgive me; I misinterpreted..."

"What don't I know, Mary?" Matthew asked rather abruptly. He instantly saw her recoil from the question. "I am sorry, my darling."

Mary gazed upon him in the darkness. "There is something that I have to tell you - that is, when the time is right." The woman's voice began to falter as she choked down her sorrow. "I want to tell you, but...but we continue to be interrupted! When I tried to telephone you days before you left the hotel in Manchester, I was going to tell you -" She stopped upon noticing her husband's countenance.

This testimony stunned Matthew. _Mary...my wife...is pregnant._ He stared first at her eyes and then her abdomen, almost entranced. A foreign kind of exuberance charged through his body, and the sensation channeled his ability to forget his sorrows. Mary now realised that he knew, but all she could think to do was to observe Matthew's emotion. "I wish the timing had been better," admitted she, shifting her absent gaze from the bedcovers to her speechless husband. "I did not want you to know, while all this chaos -"

"Oh, Mary," came the man's response. The moment Mary felt his smooth lips graze her own, she was able to calm down. It was then that she realised how much she needed this closeness with Matthew. Eager to thank her husband nonverbally, she took his hands into hers, a radiant smile across her face. And despite the darkness, Matthew knew how beautiful his wife looked at that moment. "I am not sorry about the timing of this news," Matthew decided in a deep tone of voice. "Not one bit."

She waited for him to proceed with his explanation, but her heart burst with happiness when she realised that he was crying tears of joy - joy sprouting from the knowledge that there would in fact be another Crawley in the family, _their_ little Crawley. Just before Matthew conjured the words to speak, Mary whispered, "I am not sorry anymore, either."

"Because it does not matter," Matthew recognised, lovingly squeezing his wife's hands. "Because all I could ever ask for... It presents itself before me."

"At first I thought it horrible...that I would have to tell you during this frightening time... No, I am not frightened anymore," announced the woman. "We are all together, all safe."

Suddenly Mary recalled the subject of her nightmare. A jolt of fear rekindled her sorrowful state of mind, whereupon her countenance faltered. "My darling...?" Matthew called to her, as if Mary had transported herself to another universe and left her soul behind.

In seconds, however, the woman returned to her senses. "No, it's just that... I had a horrible dream last night, and... Oh, God." Mary felt her abdomen, then her forehead; she could only worry that her child would be in grave danger after the previous night's episode.

Matthew guessed what her nightmare had been about, and so he assured her, "Mary, it is best for you to calm down. If you are truly worried, we can go to a doctor -"

"Oh, Matthew, how could I bring myself to that! I cannot allow you to go through this, not after you have experienced the satisfaction of knowing -"

"We can't assume anything, my darling," Matthew reminded her. "I suggest that we see Doctor Rider in the morning. He would be the best to consult." Those words hurt the young man despite them being his own. The last occasion for which the Crawleys had visited Doctor Rider's office had been a roller coaster for both Matthew and Mary, and the last thing Matthew desired was for Mary to remember the ups and downs of that visit...

Mary arose from the bed, replacing the blanket neatly after her. Matthew frowned. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I will not be able to sleep tonight, so I might as well begin a letter to Mama -"

"No!" Matthew practically shouted, throwing the bedcovers off of him and scrambling out of the bed. Upon realising it, he apologised for his overly loud tone of voice. "Why can't I inform Mama and Papa?" questioned Mary. She was obviously unable to recall the hellish night that she, Matthew, and her aunt had endured hours ago.

Matthew tried to recompose himself. "Because," he began calmly, "the men from the convention have taken over our postal system. They've sent a note to Downton claiming that we killed those men who broke into this house. We cannot afford to write any letters, without the acceptance that it will be examined."

Mary felt her stomach lurch. She was nervous, and so was Matthew. How would they go forward from here? The courts would surely find their account of what had happened to be absurd; was it normal, after all, for a group of daring men to aim their weapons at a future earl? The public would be immediately aware of the scandal, although the enemy had already acted: they had sent letters.

Matthew knew not how many, nor to whom the letters were addressed; nevertheless, he felt as if he were surrounded by raging fire, inhibited from moving forward in any direction. He told Mary, "We will have to be careful during this time. I want to return to Downton, because it offers us the safest refuge. We will have more authorities to guard the abbey, and of course the village and the churches. Every measure taken will be for the absolute necessity."

"And what about Rosamund?" wondered the woman, who had finally attained a relaxed pattern of breathing. "Can we bring her with us?"

"Yes." Matthew nodded his head in agreement. "I am glad you thought of that; I had not." He turned away from Mary to examine the clock. "A quarter after four... I think that we should return home today, after our visit to the doctor."

His wife nodded, reassured about the plan now because there was one. "Thank you."

"For what?" Matthew responded, reverting his eyes to his wife's silhouette (it was, after all, still quite dark in the room). Although he could not see it, Mary smiled genuinely. _How funny he is, unable to recognise all he has done for us! _She did not immediately answer him, and so Matthew drew nearer to her, repeating the question: "What have I done to earn -"

He was stopped by Mary's soft finger, which barely touched his lips. "Thank you for being who you are." She secured his face with her hands and kissed him passionately, rendering him helpless. And he was thankful for that feeling, because he needed her to snatch all his worry from him at that moment.

Indeed, all he dared to think about was his precious, unborn child...his loyal, loving wife...and the mighty, beautiful home that would become his own.

At least he was hopeful about Downton remaining in his hands; for the rope onto which he now grasped was slipping from him, burning the very hands that inevitably persisted to retain his future.

That was it: the Crawley family's future was skating on thin ice.


	15. Downton in Distress

Mary could not smile. No, there had not existed any bad news at Doctor Rider's office; on the contrary, Matthew and Mary had exhaled in relief that their child was still, in fact, due to arrive within months. No, that portion of an extraordinarily lengthy day had not been the reason for Mary's disconcerted countenance as she stood frozen in the abbey's entryway.

Matthew was there, too, and he offered no variation in expression. Robert and Cora accompanied them, along with the Dowager Countess, Tom, Sybbie, and Edith.

"Where is Mother?" asked a grave Matthew. Minutes ago, he and Mary had entered the strictly-guarded house to find their family. Nothing - save for their family's comforting presence - felt like the home they had remembered. Mary wanted to examine the outdoors, but every window hid behind dark fabric. Matthew hungered for a welcoming Carson to offer tea to him and his wife, but the butler was preoccupied with maintaining security around the house.

"She is on her way," Cora explained to her son-in-law, leaning her head over to examine the window (but of course the outside of the house was hidden from view). The Countess of Grantham returned her gaze toward Matthew and Mary. "The police are bringing Isobel to us."

"Good God," commented Matthew, "I had not imagined this to be such a production." He made eye contact with each member of his family. When he met his wife's stone-cold countenance, his stomach hurt.

"The authorities know what they are doing," Robert declared, not wanting to add "I hope" to his assertion. He certainly did _not _know whether Downton's policemen had the situation covered presently, but all he could do was to reassure his family that they would be all right. _All right might be too euphemistic, _he mused. _We will be lucky if all of us never have a face-to-face encounter with these dangerous men._

The Dowager was the first to speak after a minute's silence. "Will Isobel also spend the night here?"

"Well, we couldn't send her back to Crawley House," Tom reasoned, cradling a soundly-asleep Sybil in his arms. "It would not be safe."

"That I can agree with," Violet decided in a quiet tone of voice. "No one - not even Isobel - should have to stay in that ghost town of a village. Especially given the present circumstance -"

"That is why the police have evacuated the entire village," declared Edith, knowing that if she herself did not make her grandmother's statement less insulting, the rest of the family would remain in awkward silence. "Those who live in the village will stay here at the abbey."

Mary shot a glance at her sister, stunned beyond words. "Yes," continued Edith to the newcomers in the group, "it has been decided that, until the authorities confirm safety throughout the entire estate, the abbey must serve as a refuge."

It was evident to Cora that Matthew was anxious for Isobel to arrive. "Why don't we go in the library?" she suggested. "I think we all need a moment to breathe."

As the congregation robotically migrated from the entryway to the adjacent room, Robert attained Matthew's attention. "I must apologise for my former complaints and unkind words to you...and to Mary. I was so hung up on the shameful reality that I had not been invited to the conferences, and that -"

"I - I forgive you, Robert," stuttered Matthew. It was half painful and half reconciling to speak thus. Indeed, the Earl of Grantham had earned the right to be frustrated with having not been selected for the convention. At the same time, however, Robert had been incredibly rude and callous to his daughter and her husband.

Whilst Matthew contemplated whether he needed to lengthen his response to his father-in-law, Mary covered for him with her own reply: "We all have been on edge, Papa. Not only you; I have not taken this situation lightly, and Matthew can testify. But aside from all of that, I must confess that he has been loyal to me these past few days...which is something for which I am grateful." The woman stopped in her steps, whereupon Robert and Matthew acted likewise. The remaining members of the family continued, meanwhile, into the library. Baby Sybil had begun to bawl, requiring Tom's attendance to his daughter's needs.

Matthew smiled sadly at his wife. "I think you over-exaggerate my loyalty, but that means a great deal to me..." Robert patted the younger man's shoulder and drew nearer to Mary. "I love you, my dear daughter. And God knows how dreadful this has been for you..."

Feeling the sudden desire to hide herself in her loving father's arms, Mary embraced Robert accordingly. At first the older man could not believe his senses; he became tangled in an illusion that lied to him, claiming, _This daughter of yours has no emotion, no heart. You have known it to be true; with your very own eyes you have seen Mary reject compassion, laugh at grief, and sit calmly in the midst of chaos. If this is a woman of true heart, she is not your daughter._

_This _is _my daughter, rather, _argued Robert to his troubled mind. _And she is beautiful...everything I have wished her to be: gentle, but strong-willed; brave, but just as human as everyone else. _And as the entranced man reflected upon his precious daughter, he tightened his embrace with her. He would not let her go; certainly not, for Mary had already endured enough of this dangerous situation, and enough was enough. "My darling Mary," he whispered, "you can let it out. I feel like you're full of worry and confusion and exhaustion..."

She obeyed, which rendered her helpless in her father's comforting arms. Mary sobbed uncontrollably now, her mouth ceasing to moan and cry out all the pangs of the past several days which had been hell. She had reached the point at which her emotions were anything but shameful. Wetness seeped through Robert's grey jacket, and his daughter's face was buried deep in his chest - just so that her consolation was the relaxed beat of her father's heart. It was relaxed, of course, because Robert could be certain now that his child was safe with him. And oh! how she could weep: tear after salty tear, breath after unsteady breath - these were all indications of his daughter's human nature, and he marvelled in it. Because, to the Earl of Grantham's utter amazement, he had not experienced his child's humanity as he did now. It was a comfort in this time of tumult.

Minutes passed, during which Robert and Mary had rejoined the others in the library. Alfred appeared in the unusually-dark room (caused, again, by the shielded windows) with an announcement that relieved them all: "Mrs. Crawley, milord."

Matthew had to turn to face the doorway, through which a disheveled Isobel Crawley entered. She lit up when she spotted her son and her daughter-in-law in the distance. "Matthew, my boy! And Mary...oh, how we worried about both of you!" The two whose names had been joyfully pronounced arose from the velvet sofa to properly greet Isobel.

"Mother, you do not know how satisfying it is to see you," began Matthew, embracing the older woman and then kissing her lovingly on the cheek. Mary entered Isobel's arms immediately after mother and son had parted; it was clear that Isobel had especially worried about her daughter-in-law.

"I do not know whether your reunion with Matthew in Manchester was very good or dreadfully bad," admitted the older woman. She took a moment to smile at Mary, who pursed her lips together in effort to prevent extraneous emotions from overflowing. Isobel frowned at her son and his wife. "You both look pale. Cora, where's Carson? These two need sustenance, if I do say so myself!"

"I would ring for him," Cora started, "but -"

"But surely one of the maids can run a quick errand to the kitchen, Cora," stated the Dowager Countess of Grantham, sounding pleased with herself for thinking of such a solution. Matthew had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent a chuckle. After all, now was _not _that sort of time.

"How about we wait until one of the footmen is available?" suggested Mary, uneasy about sending a single housemaid downstairs and into the probably-barren kitchen. "Who knows how safe it is down there at this time.."

Tom read the clock that lay on the mantel. It had been an hour since dinner, and Mary and Matthew had only recently arrived at Downton. Soon everyone forgot about Isobel's worry.

"I am going to find Carson," declared Robert after a minute's silence. Edith looked up to face her father. "I'll go with you."

"Edith! Is that really necessary?" the young woman's mother questioned, frowning in a way that told Edith that she had caused pointless conflict.

"But Mama, I must telephone Mr. Gregson - my editor - and ask whether he has heard about all of this. If he knows something useful that we don't, it would -"

"Very well," Cora decided in resignation. "Robert," she added, eyeing her husband, "make sure to be with her at all times. We don't want to take risks right now."

"Of course, my dear."


	16. Slipping Through Their Fingers

"Hello?"

"Is this Edith Crawley?" came the masculine voice through Downton's telephone. Edith felt chills sink into her body. She had reached him: Michael Gregson, her editor.

"Michael! So excellent to hear your voice! I have rather unnerving news to impart -"

"Edith, I know." There was a strange, temporary silence on the other end of the line as Edith waited desperately for Gregson to speak. Robert had - as Cora had demanded - taken to accompanying Edith on this activity, which had involved a mere fifty-five steps from the library to the entryway, where there was a telephone.

Suddenly the Londoner repeated himself: "I know about Downton's crisis, Edith. And I am so sorry, so very sorry to tell you what I must -"

Edith's impatience had grown exponentially throughout the conversation. "What? What must you tell me that I do not presently know? We have the police watching us over here, we have the villagers arriving tonight -"

"Edith," Gregson almost shouted. His voice was rough and demanding, which startled Edith more than confused her. She had never heard this tone emanate from him - not the cheerful, always-smiling Michael Gregson in a tan hat at his London office-desk! The Earl of Grantham, who had given Edith much more personal space than Cora would have preferred, rose his eyebrows as he viewed his daughter's disconcerted countenance from across the room. "What is it, Edith?"

The woman ignored her father and tentatively responded to Michael. "Yes?" she prompted him.

"There has been a rumour, one that I hope to be false." It sounded to Edith as if Gregson had cleared his throat after uttering his most recent sentence; she pressed him once more to continue.

"Downton is not being protected."

_"What?"_ Edith was stunned! Why did the man try to fool around with her at such a desperate hour? "That is the most absurd rumour I have heard!"

"No, it's true!" shouted Gregson. Robert - who still stood leaning against a marble support beam connected to the building - had heard the newspaper editor's hollering response. Before Gregson could continue, Edith asked him to hold.

"Papa, you should speak with Michael; he thinks we're not safe." Edith gestured for her father to come forward to relieve her of the telephone. "He has heard rumours -"

"Surely what he has heard could not be true!" argued Robert, but he neared his daughter to grab the telephone from her hand. "Hello? Mr. Gregson, this is the Earl of Grantham. What information have you polluted my daughter with -"

"Milord, if you would please listen to this for a moment, I am sure we would all be much more organised." Gregson took a deep breath, most likely due to the fact that he now communicated with an Earl and not with Edith.

Robert gruffly answered, "Fine! But make it quick, so that I can assure you that -"

There was a knock on the front door. Edith hurried over to open it, but her father's bellowing warning halted all action. "Do _not_ open the door!"

This was enough for Gregson to question Lord Grantham. "Sir - I mean, milord, is there something wrong...?"

Edith had turned to face her father. She wore a ghastly expression, decorated with sweat that Robert had not noticed until the present moment. "My darling, I am sorry. But we mustn't let anyone in - only the footmen or Carson can -"

"Lord Grantham, Downton is not being guarded," tried Gregson a last time. He feared for Edith as he spoke every word. "They are not Downton's police force. They are members of the convention, and they plan to -"

"Man, what _are_ you saying?" shouted Robert into the line. By this time Edith's eyes had grown to an extraordinary size, and Cora had rushed over to the entryway to find the rationale behind her husband's harshness.

"Robert! You're scaring your granddaughter and your mother! What on _earth_ is going on?" Cora glanced at her daughter, then back at her husband. "Who is that on the telephone?"

"It's Mr. Gregson, my editor, Mama," informed Edith. Robert continued the telephone conversation with more sophistication and composure than he had done previously. The Countess of Grantham approached her daughter, who appeared overwhelmed. Embracing Edith gingerly, Cora whispered, "I wish you didn't have to endure this. I wish _none_ of us had to."

Edith was the first to break from the embrace. "But it does no good dwelling on what we wish could have happened," she advised her mother calmly.

"No, my darling," agreed the other, "but I think of it, nevertheless."

Robert hung the telephone back onto the counterpart. "I hope Gregson was speaking nonsense, but I fear he was telling the truth." Cora frowned.

"What did he say?"

"That the authorities around the abbey are not authorities at all. We have been fooled!"

"No," gasped Edith suddenly. She covered her eyes in her hands, ashamed by the open gullibility her family had shown toward the enemy. Cora simply stared at her husband. Robert motioned for her to draw nearer, and she acted accordingly, entering his embrace despite mixed feelings of guilt and fear.

"I am so, so, so sorry..." He continued his lamentations for one minute - all until Alfred entered the room with Carson. Tears smothered his face as Robert confessed the very same news to the servants. "I am at loss, Carson," he concluded, stifling a cry that so ardently wished to release itself from the decomposing Earl of Grantham.

"How would you like me to help your lordship?" asked an alarmed Carson. He had almost suggested a plan to the Earl of Grantham, but it would have been out of his place to have done.

"Where's Mary? She should take charge with me."

"I'll get her," obeyed Cora, unwilling to argue with her flabbergasted husband. "Edith," added she, "please come." Edith followed her mother without complaint.

Robert averted his gaze from the two women who disappeared to Carson and Alfred. "I advise that you do not open any doors to this house, not even to the villagers should they arrive."

"Very well, milord," replied Carson. "And shall I instruct Alfred here to inform the downstairs staff of the news?"

"Please, yes," consented the Earl in a rushed manner. He waved his hand toward the staircase. "Carson, Mary will help everyone in the library into one bedroom upstairs. You will escort them there, and afterward I want the entire downstairs staff to join us upstairs in an adjacent room."

"Milord," questioned Carson after a respectful nod of affirmation, "what is to be done about the people from the village? If their escorts are, in fact, dangerous - "

"Oh, God," mumbled Robert, frustrated by the increasingly difficult situation. Mary entered the room; she was accompanied, surprisingly, by Tom. "Mary, I need your help," proclaimed the woman's distraught father. "Tom, perhaps I should have you direct everyone to my bedroom upstairs. You've heard, haven't you?"

"Cora just told us," verified Branson. He turned to Mary with concern. "Are you sure you'll manage -"

"Yes," assured Mary laconically. Her lips pursed and her face pale, the woman approached her father with the remark, "I'm surprised you asked for _my_ help; Matthew or Tom have much more to offer than I."

This touched him as if his daughter had struck his face. "Mary, I thought I had raised a confident daughter! You're here because I've requested it; I don't need any more comments."

"I'll take the others upstairs," Tom declared, eager to escape the stressful scene. Robert nodded and Mary turned to smile sadly at her brother-in-law. "All right," spoke Tom after a moment's pause; and he left.

...

Matthew had not cared for his father-in-law's request to snag Mary away for the night. "Where exactly are they?" he questioned Tom, stiffening in his seat (Cora's chair) in the Earl and Countess of Grantham's bedroom. Edith and Cora had turned as Matthew had asked this.

Tom gulped. "They are downstairs, by the telephone. I believe Robert had Mary making telephone calls -"

Matthew sighed loudly. "I don't understand."

Cora sensed her son-in-law's growing temper. "I'm sure Robert just wanted to have someone with him in this dark hour." She could tell by Matthew's reddening face, however, that her words were not enough to quell the man.

The Dowager Countess of Grantham stood from the bed with the help of her cane and walked over to Matthew. "You should go to her, my dear," advised the woman gently. "If you are worried about her -"

"I _am,"_ admitted Matthew, "and I don't see why _she_ has to be sacrificed while I sit here like an ungrateful ass."

"Matthew!" exclaimed Isobel, who jumped slightly from the vanity chair to her son's left. "If you have such an opposition, then please solve the problem and get her!"

The order had hit Matthew hard. "You don't understand, Mother. None of you do. Mary is... She's had enough excitement for the past few days. I can't believe that Robert is putting her through this -"

"Explain yourself, Matthew dear, or we will never quite understand why you're so nervous," Violet urged. She had returned to her seat with Edith and Tom on Cora and Robert's bed, moving her cane in a circle balanced by the leg of the stick.

Edith shut her eyes, worried that Matthew would curse her beloved grandmother. Instead, she had to flicker her eyelids open when she heard an unfamiliar sound begin from across the room. Indeed, it was Matthew, and the man was crying.

"She's pregnant," he explained between miserable sobbing that echoed around the room. Matthew projected the only sound in the room for several seconds. Then Tom approached the teary-eyed man and offered a hand. Matthew took it willingly and stood from his chair, his knees shaking and his head buzzing. _Why did I tell them?_ he continuously questioned himself, wanting to punch his face for letting his dear Mary down. "I wasn't supposed to tell," he admitted to the group. But no one uttered a word. The news was too shocking - too _wonderful_ to be true - and so the effect of an oxymoronic moment was total silence.

To his relief, Tom disengaged with Matthew and allowed Isobel to move toward her son. This the older woman did almost as if every step she took were in slow-motion: the weight that she seemed to pull with every step looked detrimental to the woman's muscles. But Isobel was fine; yes, quite fine. Her head was spinning, that was all.

When at last she reached her son, she pursed her lips together and allowed the liquid to spill one-by-one from her eyes. Matthew stared at his mother in this state, and he wept alongside her for a few minutes. Then Isobel brought her son into her motherly arms with the phrase, "My dear boy." Cora leaned toward her own daughter and held Edith tightly in her own motherly embrace. Violet let one tear escape her strong eyes.

"We must bring Mary up here, then," decided Isobel, finishing the conversation. She smiled weakly at Matthew. "Oh, my dear, I am sorry -"

"We meant not to tell everyone today," he quickly defended. When Isobel looked nothing but elated, Matthew resolved that she was not furious at all; rather, there was hope in his mother's ageing eyes. A hope of refreshment, and of love - love for the minutest bits of happiness as the new information that her son had imparted to all of them. "Shh," Isobel whispered, moving a lock of hair away from Matthew's eyes.

"I'll go get her," he declared softly, moving away from his mother - not out of a desire to do so, but out of the mere thirst to reunite with his wife...once more. As Matthew Crawley walked to the door, several pairs of eyes followed him there. They were all frightened and jubilant, worrisome and relieved.

Nothing less could the future child of Matthew and Mary Crawley deserve than a paradox on the day it was made known to its loving family. No, nothing less.


	17. The Most Logical Thing

Mary found her husband at the bottom of the abbey's historic staircase. She would have smiled at him - for he did, indeed, appear quite handsome in the midst of this rather ugly situation; and there was always a significant difference between the unwelcoming darkness and the sparkling light - but her lips could not form the gesture. Too hard had it been to merely breathe the air in the deathlike atmosphere that was Downton Abbey. And so she silently approached him.

"My darling," he began, but Mary interrupted:

"Papa is overwhelmed. He wonders if it would be better to surrender."

"Surrender?" blurted Matthew Crawley. His pulse practically doubled; the thought of his own leader feeling the need to give up made him fearful. "Shouldn't we call the other authorities in Yorkshire? Surely we could…"

Mary was shaking her head.

"You don't… You don't think we have a _chance?_

The woman sighed and drew even closer to him. "Matthew, I don't know. No one is certain whether the people from the village are safe, or whether we have a chance of survival if we need to escape this house!"

These words pierced his ears. "But Mary," he reasoned, reaching out to fix his hands on her shoulders, "has Robert considered what giving up would do to the future of this family?"

"Papa doesn't need to be challenged with criticism at the moment."

Matthew shook his head. "Understand that this is a critical time, and we cannot remain oblivious to the reality before us -"

"Oh, thank you for being so direct!"

"No," Matthew explained, withdrawing his hands from her shoulders, which were now trembling at his touch. "I am only saying that we need a plan to get ourselves out of this mess, because I believe we _can."_ He had carefully ended his sentence, but the woman before him showed no change that reflected his easier tone of voice. Mary endeavoured to remain composed, but she was failing. To add to her mental misery, the child inside her aroused even more emotion than was proper to display in a public setting. But this was no dinner party; it was war.

As Matthew restored his dried-out lungs - he had been exerting much verbal energy - a crashing sound from the dining room startled him and his wife. "What was that?" managed the woman, who had saved herself from crying by asking this question. Matthew exhaled once more. "Stay behind me. I'm not leaving you."

To their good fortune, the noise had only been the result of the footman, James, dropping the silver from the dining table. Matthew and Mary entered the dimly lit room, and James apologised immediately for the disturbance. "Mr. Carson has asked me to prepare the silver for packing, milady," the footman told Mary. "I was being clumsy."

"Not to worry, James," dismissed Matthew. He turned to his wife and asked, wide eyed, "Are you going to be all right if we go to find Robert? It would help to have you with me, since he almost always listens to you."

Mary pursed her lips and nodded. _Better not to admit that Papa has hardly listened to me recently,_ she rationalised. Matthew wasted no time after his wife's consent; the two made their way back through the dining room door, intending to search for the Earl of Grantham in the library.

That was their worst mistake.

…

Isobel paced back and forth in the Earl and Countess of Grantham's bedroom. "Can you imagine? Mary pregnant, and having to endure all _this!"_

Mary's mother shook her head and smiled sadly. "This hasn't been the most of her and Matthew's troubles with these men." Cora sank into the chair by the vanity after averting it from its table. Tom had by this time managed to get his daughter to sleep, and so she lay innocently in his arms, her fist clenching her father's index finger. Edith and Violet were opposite Tom on the bed, and the Dowager Countess of Grantham was growing tired.

"Cora, dear," asked Violet, "is there anything to drink? I thirst like a garden in a drought!"

"Yes; Edith, would you please pour your grandmother some water?"

"Yes, Mama." The younger woman obeyed, but at the same time that she had begun to pour the glass, the most disturbing sound shot through all their ears. Everyone's faces had sprung into abrupt alert.

The noise had come from a gun.

"No one move!" insisted Isobel in a whisper. For a long moment, everyone in the cramped room merely stared at one another, panic seeping through their bodies. There was a second shot, at which Violet put a hand to her heart. Baby Sybbie had awakened with a whimper.

Cora locked eyes with Isobel. They both had the very same, very disconcerting fear. Their children were down there - their _grandchild_ was down there! - and there was nothing at present which could be done about it. Isobel saw the dead expression in Cora's face, and it caused her to swallow hard. "Everyone must remain in this room."

"But what about Papa and…" Edith could not finish the listing of people who could very well have fallen dead moments ago. Tom discreetly got up from the bed and left his daughter securely on the bed. Cora inhaled worriedly, for she could sense his desire to leave the room looking for the missing members of the family. _And not only we live in this house,_ remembered the Countess of Grantham, _but our employees could be in danger!_

Tom Branson had placed himself at the centre of his family, as if preparing to give a speech. "I have not been very logical in my past," commenced the young man, making eye contact with each of the members of the room, save for his daughter. "But I can say that the most logical thing I've done in my life was marrying Sybil. And now her family – my family - are down there. I don't plan on returning immediately, but I do know that it is my duty to defend them." He scanned the room quickly, from left to right, there being not one single word speaking out against his motive.

So he departed the room.


	18. Murray

Tom Branson forced himself not to hurry down the flight of stairs - his legs were shaking even as he descended with grace - because he knew that he had to be tactful with his every move. _In the stead of my late wife, Sybil, I will be wise, _he decided quietly. Though he had to admit to himself that the present time was not a tranquil one. Matthew and Mary Crawley could have been, at that very moment, dead as the shrouded house.

Shrouded, indeed: there was hardly any illumination in the house, and the sun had disappeared behind the rolling hills.

Tom proceeded through the downstairs level of the abbey. His forehead contained a thick layer of sweat, and his eyes strained to remain alert and awake. The day had proved taxing on the family, after all, and the optical organs had been the first sign to Tom that he was growing weary in the early hours of the evening.

He recalled that hope-impairing rumble of the floor upstairs - when he and the family had heard it twice, having stolen the souls from every human in the room - and the Irishman's throat dried up. He dared not cough, nor did he allow himself to swallow hard.

Who had fired? And why had there followed no sound? Tom wondered these things as he pushed the library room door open -

His heart immediately picked up its rhythmic beat. There was Mary, her sole undergarments remaining a cover for her body. And when Tom looked up from that startling sight to find James Murray's figure glowing over the woman, his breathing halted. Matthew was nowhere in sight.

Tom was still unseen to Mary, as she lay on the floor in a position that limited her view. Murray had, upon the entrance of Tom Branson, shown no sense of worry. "We have a visitor," he told Mary in a scratchy tone that sounded nothing like the lawyer.

"How _dare_ you!" Tom was fuming. "Let her go! Where is Mr. Crawley?"

"Tom."

It had been the faintest utterance, and yet Branson had detected it clearly. "Matthew," he called. "Where -?"

Murray frowned as Matthew got up from the floor behind the farthest sofa. His shirt, drenched in blood, caused Tom to cry out, "Oh, God." But Matthew quickly explained the deceiving condition: "It's not me."

Then Mary found the liberty to get up from the ground. Murray allowed it; but when she lifted herself from the floor, the woman cried out in pain.

Murray was beaming now. "She's been shot, Mr. Branson. The damned bullet only grazed her back -"

"Damn you, Bertram." Matthew had been the one to interrupt, but Tom turned to face Matthew at the sound of the name he had stressed. "Bertram?"

"He's not -" began Mary, but the man who had appeared to be James Murray slapped her in the face. Matthew ejaculated, "Mary!" with a breath of fear, and Tom's eyes widened. They both feared her condition.

But "James Murray" had cut off the ailing woman in order to provide his own account of the matter. "Of course I am _Murray._ I am Bertram Murray, identical brother of James. Who, I might add, had the honour of hearing the two shots that sent Mr. Crawley bolting into the room as loud as a herd of deer!"

Tom's head was spinning. "You are the one responsible for this whole massacre, I imagine!" He started for villain with a menacing look. Branson thirsted for vengeance, and he could sense the kindling fear in Murray's mind.

"Tom, don't -" Matthew began, gesturing to his brother-in-law with his arm extended outward. "He will hurt Mary." The last of those words the young, trembling man had choked out fearfully. It pained Tom to see Matthew in such a state - not to forget his sister-in-law, who appeared as if she were ready to faint - but he obeyed, halting in his strides. Murray continued with the story:

"You must be wondering where Robert has gone, isn't that right, Tom? Oh, don't worry; he is as safe as _he_ could possibly imagine at a time like this. I sent him outside to collect the..._poor_ villagers and to bring them back to Downton. As for these two," Bertram paused to examine his handiwork - the scarred faces of Matthew and Mary, the bloodied shirt, the scathed woman - and smiled. "They learnt the hard way about who I really am, and what I've planned in order to claim this estate for my own."

The stout, middle-aged man wobbled over to the sofa and sat down of his own accord. After studying Tom's stunned but blank expression, he proceeded. "You do not seem to understand what this means. _I_ organised the convention, and _I_ asked my brother to bring Matthew. I knew not to invite Robert; too old-fashioned, and highly repulsive to reform. But it was the perfect advantage, knowing of my brother's connection to this estate. I hired the best men - British and American alike - to do all the dirty work for me.

"When I invited James and Mr. Crawley to stay at my house, my poor brother had no idea how helpful he had been for my itinerary. I wanted to hurry things along and be rid of the heir presumptive -" he gestured in Matthew's direction - "which would have planted the seed of a scandal far more interesting than any of those night club tales in the papers!" Bertram laughed to himself for a moment, and when Tom began to move toward the malicious man, he cleared his throat and protested, "Wait, there is more.

"When my plan failed and James was shot instead of Crawley here, I grew close to giving up. I visited James - who was injured enough not to pose a potential threat – and told him everything. Then there was the incident at the Painswick residence, which angered me more than it had my brother. I was on the verge of fleeing back to America. But then it occurred to me -"

"You're an evil bastard," spat Tom, teeth clenched and eyes bulging with ferocity. "There's no way you're leaving Downton until we see that you are convicted of murder!"

"But, Mr. Branson," reminded the other with a mocking tone, "I have _killed_ no one."

By this time, Matthew had reunited with his wife in the back of the room. They had both been weeping, but when Matthew heard the nasty assertion spurt out of Bertram Murray's mouth, he countered, "You've almost _killed_ my wife and me. That should be enough for the _real_ authorities, as I know _them _to be much less corrupt than those affiliated with your cursed system!"

Bertram turned (after Matthew had spoken) to face the challenger. "And you think _they _can stop me? Me, a millionaire and a genius? The thing is, Mr. Crawley, there are far too many 'corrupt' people in this world. Money like mine goes a long way -"

"Oh, _shut_ up," growled Matthew, the intensity of his anger having increased over those three words. Bertram Murray closed his mouth tightly, but once Matthew returned to holding his wife in his arms, the criminal had recharged his humour.

"James may call the authorities in London..." He quickly explained to Tom how Matthew had rushed to the telephone upon its ring. "Oh, it was a dreadfully perfect scene, Mr. Branson, how the telephone chimed and how Mr. Crawley answered it, only to hear the identical voice of my twin brother! He thought it was a joke at first, but I shouted through the room, exclaiming, 'My dear brother is correct! I am Bertram Murray, and he is James!' Ah, I could not see the expression on Mr. Crawley's face, of course, but -"

"I don't want to hear any more of that from you," interrupted Tom. "Tell me why the hell you shot her!" He motioned toward Mary, who was breathing short, panicked breaths as Matthew felt her wound. Bertram sneered. "She...is a curious woman."

"She's 'Lady Mary' as far as you're concerned," corrected Branson. But Bertram was not listening.

"I _mean_ that she is not only an odd product of her breed; she has this...this _aura..._that worries me." None of Bertram's words meant anything to Matthew or to Tom, whereupon they remained quiet as the speaker finished. "I had letters from Murray in which he would go on about how strong she is. And that worried me because I have had an eye on Downton for many, many years... And I didn't want some no-good earl's daughter interfering with my future estate -"

"You hold your tongue!" interjected Matthew, causing Bertram to turn in his seat to stare at Matthew. Tom's eyes eagerly searched the man's pockets for the gun. He found it, but its location made it no feasible task to acquire. Just when Bertram reverted his gaze forward to look at Tom again, the Irishman turned away so as not to appear suspicious. "Where was I?" he asked himself, putting his left index finger to his chin. Tom glared at the man's calm and unworried nature in the midst of his sister-in-law's wincing in the corner of the room.

"Anyway, I am sorry to cut this lovely conversation short, Mr. Branson, but if I do remember correctly I have some business to finish. Downton will be mine by morning! What a wonderful prospect!" He began to get up from the sofa, but as he performed this action the gun fell out of the shallow pocket in his coat. Bertram turned pale.

Tom made a lunge for it - and he almost missed, had it not been for the slow reaction of the less-than-agile Bertram. "Give that back!" he shouted rather loudly; this caused Mary and Matthew to look up.

"You are not going anywhere," Tom assured the suddenly nervous man. He positioned the gun at Bertram, who pleaded under his breath for help.

Matthew motioned to Mary for them to quietly exit the library. Bertram did not care about this, as his life was on the line and he predicted the worst from Tom Branson. To his relief, Tom affirmed that he would not shoot. "I will not for the sake of my late wife, but whatever happens after we hand you over to the police is up to your own fortune."

"Mr. Branson," Bertram began slowly, "I am not going to let you turn me in. Do not forget that I have plenty of men out there who are loyal to me -"

"Loyal? Ha!" scoffed an undeniably similar voice to that of Bertram. The owner of the assertion stepped into view. "Not after what _I_ have told them."

It was James Murray, in the flesh.


	19. Bertram's Dismay

"I thought you were in London!"

"I thought you were a _good_ man!"

The two Murrays stared each other maliciously, frightening Tom Branson in the slightest. The Irishman peered behind him with ardent hope that Matthew had managed to take his injured wife upstairs. _She needs help,_ he thought with worry. _And I'm not so sure we're going to have Dr. Clarkson here anytime soon..._

As Tom pondered just one aspect of the highly critical situation, the others bickered and cursed at the opposite side of the room. "I should have you hanged for this, Bertram! Harming and harrassing my employer's family and estate is not -"

"Oh dear, James, are you to try to convert me at this final hour? You should know me; you're my brother, for God's sake!"

"And a cursed brother I have," hissed James Murray, pointing at Bertram with a look of utter disgust. "One who wishes to inflict damage upon his own blood an innocent others." James turned violently toward the window and opened the curtains. "And I shall bear no shame, Bertram, when both the Yorkshire and London police forces arrive here to arrest you. Most of your men will be arrested, but you have deceived them to the point at which the authorities are willing to see you in court -"

"I haven't deceived _anyone!"_ bellowed Bertram, reaching out to grab his brother's arm. But James Murray backed away from him and continued: "They will allow your men to call out against you, to protest your guilt and to protest their liberation! Because after what you did - promising portions of Downton's estate to their families, enticing them to work for you with monetary incentive..."

James had to stop momentarily because his face was fuming red. Bertram quickly licked his lips. "You have no proof of what I told my men! _They_ have no proof! How do you expect -"

"But if there were witnesses when you promised those things to them," cut in Tom, "the courts of this land will not look past a good witness' account."

Unsurprisingly, Branson's words made Bertram scarlet in the face. "You..." he managed in a scratchy voice. "I hope your 'Mary Crawley' perishes under this roof! At least that would make me a man of accomplishment, in this time of -"

"Why, you...!" the other Murray charged at him, and at last the twin brothers' bodies collided. James forced Bertram toward the wall, and a _bang_ sounded as soon as the criminal's weight hit it. Tom thought it best not to let the two have at it, and so he hurried over to disengage the two. "Stop! Let the authorities handle what happens next! James," he called to the engrossed man, who had pinned his brother to the wall. For the minutest second Tom could not tell the two apart.

At last James Murray let go, allowing Bertram to sink to the floor. James turned to Tom. "You go and find your family. All who were loyal to him -" pointing to Bertram - "are now reversing their actions; they will send the villagers home. Robert is out there, and he knows to wait for instructions from the police." He sighed and rubbed his head. "This is very unfortunate. I dread to hear an ominous report, and yet I must ask: how are Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley?"

"I worry about them both," confessed Tom, "but it's Mary and her unborn child who face the worst." James gasped, and Branson himself felt tears escape his eyes. "I don't know if they're going to be all right."

For a minute, there was silence in the library - the room that had just housed a raucous episode of gunshots and shouting, stories and shoving. But James Murray snapped out of the trance and declared, "All right, Tom, better find them. Make sure that they all remain upstairs. The police have told me to gather everyone into a single bedroom, so that interrogations might commence as soon as possible."

James Murray nodded to Tom, who left with the discomfort of a nervous stomach and with hope the size of a button.

It had increased. Before, Tom Branson's hope had been that of a grain of salt.


	20. A Storm Braver If Ever He Saw One

"Excuse me, have you seen Lady Mary Crawley?"

"Sorry, sir, I haven't."

This pattern of question and answer had repeated itself five times before Matthew Crawley could figure out where his wife had been taken. Matthew had telephoned Dr. Clarkson immediately after reuniting his injured wife with her mother and other family. Clarkson had left the hospital immediately following Matthew's telephone call.

"Lady Mary has been taken to her bedroom, Mr. Crawley," revealed one of the authorities. It was a miracle that Matthew had come across one of these strangers who finally had an answer for him; through the giant doors of the abbey, there had entered fifteen policemen, five of Matthew's colleagues, and eight investigators. The downstairs level of the big house was overwhelmingly crowded.

"Thank you so much," Matthew acknowledged the man who had given him directions to his wife's location. He hurried up the grand staircase, where, halfway, Tom and Sybbie met him.

"How is Mary?" asked Matthew.

"I'm not sure," explained his brother-in-law. "Dr. Clarkson wants you to see her before anyone else does. At least, that's what Edith told me."

The future Earl of Grantham sighed heavily and nervously. "I'm on my way. Thank you, Tom. If you hadn't interrupted Bertram earlier -" he cursed that devilish man in his head - "I don't think I would have had the strength to walk." He managed to smile at Tom, who acted likewise but with hesitation. _This whole thing has been a nightmare for him, too,_ Matthew knew.

"I'm just glad to have slowed it all down," replied Tom honestly. The man's daughter fidgeted in his arms; she was intimidated by their present height on the staircase.

Matthew nodded to Tom and let him go. At last, Matthew made his way swiftly through the upstairs hallway and knocked on his and Mary's bedroom. Almost instantly, Dr. Clarkson opened the door with a serious countenance. "Mr. Crawley," he addressed the newcomer with concealed emotion. "Please come in."

A thousand feelings crowded Matthew's mind as the door unveiled more and more of the room's interior. He could feel his heart skip a beat when his teary eyes met the body that lay on their bed. "My darling," he whispered. "Mary, I'm here."

He received no sort of response - not words, nor even eye contact - and Dr. Clarkson moved to click the door back into the door frame. "I will be leaving you both alone, but a few words before that." He gestured for Matthew to take a seat alongside the grave-looking bed. It was, in fact, drowned in dark-purple bedsheets; the cloths that Mary wore from the hospital were even a dark shade of brown.

Clarkson opened his mouth tentatively and finally spoke, once Matthew's eyes focused on his: "I am afraid that we are in an unknowing situation. There is nothing to report, although Mrs. Crawley - your mother - and I have predicted the potential consequences of today's events. I am terribly sorry the physical tragedy, Mr. Crawley." Matthew held his breath and nodded, unable to speak about it. That was still a sensitive topic area; and how could it _not_ be so? _My darling wife has been shot, twice!_ He could not return to look at the statue-like figure wrapped in the bedcovers. Clarkson continued reluctantly:

"Unfortunately, there will be a period of long recovery for Lady Mary. She is not allowed out of her bedroom for the first two weeks, and after that I trust you will keep her in your sight."

"Of course," assured the hoarse voice of Matthew Crawley. He ached with dread of the thought that he would even leave his wife for a day. _No more intermissions,_ he vowed. _If I did not learn that lesson from all of this, then at what cost must I understand it?_

"I will be back tomorrow, but I am leaving her to you for the night." The doctor shook hands with Matthew, who could not bring himself to get up from the chair. "I am, once again, very sorry about this."

"Thank you for all you have done, Doctor," Matthew told him. Clarkson smiled sadly and let himself out of the room.

As soon as the door had shut out all other chaos, Matthew got up from the chair and approached Mary from the other side of the bed. He knelt beside her, predicting already that she would chastise him for making such a move. But she only stared at him. In sorrow. Matthew braced himself for the worst.

Mary inhaled gradually and lifted her upper body from the bed. Matthew propped up the pillow behind her to provide comfort. "Thank you," she acknowledged simply. Her husband swallowed. She put a hand on his arm. "Clarkson and Isobel have two predictions." Matthew tried to remain calm in front of her, but he imagined what the doctor and nurse were thinking. But he kept his mouth closed, admiring her beauty in effort to distract himself.

"They think - since the shot only scathed my back - that it will be fine." Matthew had cringed at the word "it", understanding too well whom "it" was. Mary proceeded bravely:

"Isobel…was very kind." Thus far, Mary had been composed. But it was when she revealed the following prediction that she and Matthew both erupted into tears.

"But they both think..." She pursed her lips before continuing, fighting back the reality as if it sought to kill her. "They... It could be -"

"Oh, Mary," wept Matthew, caressing her face and closing his eyes for one long moment. "I am so...so sorry..."

She looked at her husband with admiration, in spite of her broken emotion and powerful grief sinking in. Mary was strong, after all, and she could afford to be the storm braver during such times. "It's not anyone's fault but his," she assured Matthew whilst the man sobbed unashamedly. She smiled at him rather bravely and pressed, "We can't lose hope yet. Nothing has been confirmed. I..."

That had been it for her. At once Mary collapsed into uncontrollable bawling; Matthew got up and took a seat on the narrow edge of the bed to be closer to her. "Mary, my darling," he breathed. "I could not be...more proud of you than I am now. I love you and the baby so terribly much, and if I could -" his throat temporarily knotted up, preventing speech. "If I could do anything to prevent this… But we must accept it, my darling, as much as I hate that prospect."

"I could have prevented this, Matthew," exclaimed Mary at the height of her verbal strength. "If I hadn't stupidly taken that train -"

"You're wrong," he interrupted his wife firmly, holding her hands tightly and locking his eyes with her lamenting ones. "Don't you start to blame yourself. You just told me none of us are to blame. This is...this is _chance._ It was _not_ your fault!"

The latter exclamation had been close to a shout, and it frightened Mary to the point at which she stopped crying and studied her husband's fiery eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologised, thinking that the anger had derived from her confession. Which was not even remotely true.

Matthew felt terribly. He withdrew his hands from hers and covered his wet face in shame. "Oh, my darling, please forgive me. I am...so furious with myself for attending the damned thing in Manchester..." He exhaled in disappointment, lifting his hands from his face. Mary was not feeling strong, but she forgave him nevertheless.

"This entire thing...was some sort of test. I don't know whether we have won, but I am sorry for what has happened to you, even to James Murray and to Downton..."

Matthew had a sudden realisation. He thought at first that it was too silly to share with his wife, but second thoughts deleted that musing. _Nothing is too silly to explain to my wife._ "I think...if this has done anything good...that we have strengthened Downton by our loyalty to one another." His eyes travelled down to her abdomen. "This child has brought us together even more than before I left. If you had not known about our baby, you might not have made it back onto that train." He smiled, hard though it was; the child's fate was still a mystery to them, and nothing could have been more heartbreaking to Matthew and Mary Crawley than the knowledge that their baby could die in their midst.

Mary nodded in agreement, crying all the more. The tears were the result of mixed feelings: some of those emotions happy, since she and her husband and her child were presently together. Matthew held her in his loving embrace for minutes, during which they both grieved for the past several days and for the news that had confronted them on that very night. Their time was precious, and yet it pained them that uncertainty still roamed the air.

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted Mary and Matthew. Following approval to enter, Cora and Robert stepped into the dark room. Robert remarked, "Can we turn on the...?"

Cora walked over to the bedside table and flicked the light switch. Matthew strained his eyes to adjust, and Mary pushed made her body upright on the bed. The Earl and Countess of Grantham neared their daughter and nodded to Matthew, who had decided to leave Mary alone with them.

"My darling girl," managed Cora, already slipping into tears. "It hurts, it _really_ hurts to know what happened. I wish it had happened to me, and not to you."

"Mama," Mary assured her mother, "no one should wish such a thing upon them."

Robert stroked Mary's cheek gently and in silence. At last he compiled the energy and confidence to speak: "Mary, Clarkson explained everything to us. I would never want you and Matthew to experience what your mother and I had to endure..." Mary knew that they were referring to her deceased, unborn brother. This hit her hard, and she recalled her parents' devastation. "I would wish that upon no one," continued Robert, "but nothing is confirmed yet, so I believe we have hope."

"I pray for hope, Papa."

...

James Murray finished speaking to the policemen and investigators by one o'clock in the morning. It had been a four-hour production, and everyone was tired. Charles Carson met the lawyer just as he reentered through the abbey's entryway. "Sir, Lord Grantham hopes that you spend the night at Downton."

Murray smiled at the butler. "I will. Please thank his lordship for me, as I am extraordinarily tired and must retire for the night."

"Of course. One of our footmen will be here shortly to show you to your room." Carson was indeed very concerned about many things, but he held his most positive attitude in place for the faithful James Murray.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. Ah, and have you heard anything about Lady Mary? Is she well?"

"I have not heard, sir, but I am rather anxious to know."

"We've all been shaken up, haven't we?" James Murray chuckled, but in the same way as had Matthew. "But nothing is more disconcerting than the knowledge that one of the family is in bodily distress."

"Indeed," admitted Carson sombrely. In seconds, Alfred arrived to escort the lawyer to the guest bedroom. Charles Carson left for the servant's hall downstairs. He arrived in the midst of the most quiet congregation of servants that he had ever witnessed.

Anna stood at the head of the table, all other staff members sat at the table with their heads down. "Anna?" addressed Carson. The head housemaid averted her gaze to the butler and fought tears. Mrs. Hughes went over to take Mr. Carson's arm, leading him toward an open seat at the table. Anna continued with what Charles Carson assumed had begun as an update on the condition of Lady Mary.

"The doctor is still uncertain about what will happen, but it could take a sudden turn," she declared in her bravest, clearest tone of voice. Anna was not feeling well at all; after she had seen Mr. Crawley rush Lady Mary upstairs - and her ladyship had been moaning, blood dripping down her mangled back - the lady's maid herself had felt ill.

Miss O'Brien spoke up: "Will her ladyship be needing me tonight, or will she remain with Lady Mary?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know."

"I will ask." It was John Bates. He had taken the news with fortitude, but he knew that he and Anna would both break into tears that night. _It really is early morning,_ he reminded himself, which suddenly made him understand why his eyes were hurting.

Mr. Carson waited for silence to encompass the servants' hall once more, whereupon he imparted his own announcement. "We all understand the magnitude of this devastating event. As a part of this family, we shall mourn with them, even while Lady Mary's health is unknown…" He eyed Mrs. Hughes, as if asking for her to enlighten him on that subject (he still understood little of it). "I ask that we all treat the family with the utmost respect and sympathy." Once the butler noticed that he had the attention of the entire room, Carson dismissed them.

"Mrs. Hughes," he began after all others had left.

Her lips trembled with fear for Charles Carson's reaction to the news. "Lady Mary might have had - or will soon suffer - a miscarriage."

Carson's head felt as if it had been hammered by some great force. _She is so young… Not nearly thirty years of age,_ he thought. The man's eyes had widened to their fullest capacity. "Mrs. Hughes," he repeated, almost robotically. Carson's gaze remained upon the bell that hung on the adjacent wall - her bell - and asked, "When can I see her?"

Elsie Hughes tried not to act surprised, because it had been apparent since she first arrived at Downton that Lady Mary had a permanent spot in Charles Carson's heart. "I...don't know. Let me find Anna -"

"Thank you, but no," Carson stopped her. His mind was spinning. Lady Mary was a _part_ of him, the man whose greatest joys were to work for the abbey and to keep watch over her. _His_ Mary. "I will try my luck to see her tomorrow," decided he.

Elsie had no doubt that Charles Carson would be allowed into Lady Mary's room, but she rightly asked, "Are you certain they will allow that?"

Carson turned to face the woman. He admired her most among the downstairs staff, even though he knew how firmly she saw a colder side to Lady Mary. He raised his head in pride. "I am certain, Mrs. Hughes. Good night."


	21. Conclusion

James Murray indulged in the wholesome breakfast that Downton had to offer the following morning. Seated round the dining table were Tom, Matthew, Robert, and Edith.

"The court would like to proceed with everything tomorrow. Fortunately they have dismissed Mary from the obligation to come, and would instead like for Matthew to act as her witness."

Robert took a bite from his plate and looked back at Murray. "So the aftermath of the convention has been settled…?"

Matthew spoke up: "Yes. I telephoned those uninvolved with Bertram's scheme early this morning. They expressed their sympathies to our family, and wish Mary a strong recovery. I remember when they met her, on that one occasion in Manchester." The thought produced bittersweet feelings in the young man; so long ago it seemed, when he and his wife had felt so distant from one another._ We were clueless, and immature, and so at loss…_

"It's nice to hear that not everyone involved in the convention had poor motives," declared Tom, reaching for his glass of wine. "I wonder how they took the news?"

"With utter surprise," replied Matthew, smiling sadly. "It was not an easy thing for them to digest."

"Nor for us," added Robert. He looked suddenly at his daughter and questioned, "Have you informed your editor about everything?"

Edith slightly blushed at the mention of Michael Gregson. "Yes… He telephoned this morning, wondering if we were all right. In fact… Mr. Murray, he told me that he'd heard news from some of your colleagues in London."

Murray nodded. "I don't doubt it. A few of my colleagues knew that I had planned to put an end to my brother's works, but they received word from me last night that Bertram had been stopped." He put down his fork and chuckled. "I suppose the good news was too difficult to contain."

"And despite the damage, it is good news," agreed Robert. The others chuckled softly; Matthew felt uncomfortable in his chair, whereupon he dismissed himself. "Please excuse me."

…

Charles Carson knocked on Lady Mary Crawley's bedroom door. Breakfast had long passed, so the butler thought it an appropriate time to speak with her.

"Come in," she called from inside, though Carson presumed that she thought him to be Anna or Mr. Crawley. He turned the doorknob slowly and entered the room without hurry, resisting the impulse to take long strides across the room.

Her unexpected visitor startled her, especially in her state of indecency: her hair was a horrendous sight, and her hospital robes concealed a small fraction of her skin. Mary straightened her back and pulled up the bedcovers to cover herself. "Forgive me, Carson -"

"No, milady; please forgive my intrusion at such an hour. I - I had hoped to find you before the day grew old."

The young woman was genuinely delighted to have the butler's company; she smiled at him and prompted, "Please do come in." He obeyed and took a seat at the chair to the left of her bed. Carson shivered at the sight of the disheveled Lady Mary. Usually such a thing would not bother him, but his knowledge of Dr. Clarkson's predictions for her health caused him to cringe before the woman. She noticed this unguarded, vulnerable state of mind that consumed Carson. "How are you?" she casually asked.

The softness of her voice tortured him, for he knew how critical a time it was for her, and he wished that everything with which she had been cursed could vanish from her body. "Adjusting," he honestly reported. "I wanted to see you, milady, because I have heard some things regarding Dr. Clarkson's visit." He forced his voice to continue, because he gazed upon her young figure and cursed Bertram Murray for harming her. "I cannot express how horribly I feel about all of it, and I am very sorry that you have had to endure it."

She looked down at her lap, unsure of how to respond to his generous words. She always thought that Carson was unbreakable, but at the present time she realised that was untrue.

"I owe so much to you, Carson. You have always encouraged me, and have never caused me to doubt that things would repair themselves in time. Thank you for your kindness."

The butler smiled softly. He shifted his position in the chair to extend an arm across the bed. It met the woman's small, cold hand and provided warmth that only Carson could give. She smiled at him and a sort of chilling took effect on her body.

"Please know that I am always here for your ladyship, no matter what God has in store for this… I have the feeling," he continued, tears now wandering down his softened face, "that - if anything at all - you and Mr. Crawley will grow stronger as this all unfolds. No matter what, your ladyship has family who love you…and you have me."

"Thank you, Carson." It was all that Mary could utter before her countenance broke and her eyes swelled with tears. She had wept in the butler's presence before, but never had they both shared such emotion at one time. Carson wanted to embrace her, but he knew that she was confined to her bed; and so he got up and drew closer to her. "Nothing can separate the baby from you, no matter what happens. In your heart, there will always rest a place for this child. As there is in mine for you."

Mary dared not ruin the moment with her own words, because Carson's closeness and fatherly touch was embracing her, perfect as it always was. And it comforted her in a way she had previously thought impossible. Her father had spent an hour with her the night before, but Carson needed not spend as much as ten minutes with her to bring her assurance.

And so Lady Mary Crawley held his hand and closed her eyes, crying internally for her baby, hoping that the child's life had been spared.

It had been.

…

The excitement radiated throughout every floor, every room, and every inch of the abbey. Anna sang her way down to the servants' hall a week later, finding her husband seated alongside Miss O'Brien. "Lady Mary's child will be all right!" exclaimed she. John Bates looked into his wife's glowing eyes; she beamed at him, and soon they were embarrassing Sara O'Brien with an intimate embrace. But O'Brien could not contain her elation, and so she hurried to Mr. Carson's office. She found Mrs. Hughes inside as well. _All the better, _she decided.

"Miss O'Brien?" Elsie blurted, startled by the woman's immediate barging into the office. "What on earth justifies _this?"_

"Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, I've just heard that Lady Mary and the baby are well!"

Carson pushed himself up from the desk chair. "Where is she? Can I - that is, would I be allowed to -?"

"I don't see why not," supposed Mrs. Hughes, her face radiant and her heart relieved. "You had better hurry, Mr. Carson, or Lady Mary won't have an inch of space left for you in the bedroom!"

…

Dr. Clarkson grinned at Matthew. "At last," he sighed, looking past the young man to stare in admiration at Isobel Crawley with her daughter-in-law. Mary was sobbing with happiness, and Matthew's face was drenched in tears also. "I can tell you that your wife is with child, and it's a very healthy one, I must add."

"Thank you, Doctor," replied Matthew, shaking hands with Clarkson. "I don't believe I've ever been happier, nor prouder, than I am now."

"And proud you should be," Clarkson reminded, "of both mother and child. Lady Mary's strength is remarkable." The doctor smiled and looked back at Mary, who was wrapped in her mother-in-law's tight embrace.

Matthew gestured toward his wife and mother. "If you don't mind…?"

"Not at all, Mr. Crawley. I will be back in a few weeks to check up on Lady Mary."

In moments the room contained only Matthew and Mary. Matthew stood beside the bed for a minute, merely admiring her and thanking the Lord for his wife and child's safety.

Matthew seated himself on the edge of the bed almost unconsciously, unable to process that which his eyes presented before him. "Mary, I can't recall a happier time. And I am so proud of you; Dr. Clarkson believes you're responsible for our child's survival." He wept, smiling and holding her face in his hand. "You are so…so precious to me."

"I couldn't live without you, darling," responded she. Her hands grasped his arms - with whatever strength she still had - and she trembled at the touch of his skin. "Oh, Matthew," she breathed, "I thought we had lost our child. I thought, for some time, that we had lost _us."_

"And we might have done, had we not remembered your words. We must never take _us_ for granted. Never again will I make that mistake." He pressed his lips against her dry ones, enlivening them instantly. She responded by kissing him gently on the left cheek, then on the right, and on the lips once more…

The Crawleys were free of intermissions, at last.

**THE END**


End file.
